The Many Faces of Harry James Potter
by S. Ravenquill
Summary: What if Voldemort did more than imbue Harry with a part of himself on that fateful October night? What if the trauma little Harry suffered caused his infant mind to turn in on itself and split? This change becomes a catalyst, rewriting history to unite a Gryffindor boy, longing for a family, with a snarky Slytherin who secretly wants the same. SS mentors HP. Warning: contains abuse
1. Chapter 1: Just Another Birthday

~A/N Hello everyone! I would like to present to you my first fanfiction! This fanfiction will feature mainly from Harry Potter's point of view, but also switch to Severus Snape's point of view. Yes, this is yet another HP/SS guardian fic. I promise to make it full of angst and interesting stuff like that. There will not be pairings until much, much later in the story, if at all. There will be no homosexual relationships, period. I'll try to be original, but I also want to thank the many great fanfiction writers on this site (and of course J. K. Rowling) that have encouraged me to try my hand at creating my own.

I'll try to keep the basic plot-lines and characters as canon, but they will develop differently according to the changed circumstances. Anything else is up to my muse!

As I said before, this is my first fanfiction, so please keep that in mind. I'm also doing all the editing myself, so feel free to point out any errors!

This first chapter will mainly be background information that you could find in the book, so I'll be keeping it very basic. If you would like to see the contents of Harry's letters, please read Ms. Rowling's wonderful book _Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban_, as I will not be rewriting them here, and it's a wonderful read! Also, information will be referenced from the first and second books, so if you haven't read those yet, get to it!

I hope you enjoy this fanfiction, though I may not update this story as often as you would like (unless you hate it) as I'm undergoing some intensive treatments for Lyme disease at the moment. But I'll never give up on it, don't worry! If you could leave a review (constructive criticism is always appreciated) that might encourage me to get the next chapters up faster, though.

I'm also American, so while I aspire to use British terminology in this fic as much as possible, I will inevitably use my American slang as well. Sorry.

Warnings: (Spoilers) This fanfiction will contain references and brief descriptions of abuse. This fanfiction will also contain descriptions of self-injury and self-injurious behavior. Some briefly violent scenes may be present. Language and (non-sexual) themes may be included that are unsuitable for young children. DID (dissociative identity disorder, formerly multiple personality disorder) will feature in this fanfiction.

If any of these things will cause you distress, please do not read any further. I do not support nor encourage any of the aforementioned behaviors and actions. Abuse is a serious and horrible issue that continues in our world today. If you or anyone you know is suffering from abuse, please contact the appropriate authorities. No one deserves to be abused.

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters, places, or anything else you recognize in this fanfiction and am not receiving any monetary compensation for my time spent writing. Please don't sue me.

My apologies for the long author's note. Without further ado, on with the show! A/N~

* * *

A thin, pale, black-haired boy clad in oversized clothes lay on his rickety bed, peering out his window at the inky summer sky, stars twinkling merrily back at him. A slight breeze played across his face from the cracked window, left open just wide enough for Hedwig, his snowy owl, to squeeze through. The dark house was thick with silence, broken only by the muted snores of his cousin, Dudley, and the occasional moan of the foundations. He checked the time on his slightly dented (thanks to Dudley) alarm clock for what seemed to be the hundredth time. The luminous green hands shone back at him like eerie eyes in the darkness, displaying that it was now 11:49. He sighed silently, lest the Dursleys somehow hear him, thoughts swirling round in his head.

In just a few minutes he would be thirteen years old. He had never really celebrated his birthday at the Dursley's, especially once discovering he was a wizard, and had no reason to suspect a sudden change in heart. This thought triggered a keen longing to be back at his true home, the castle Hogwarts, with his best friends Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger. He hadn't heard from them at all since Ron had tried to contact him via telephone five weeks ago, with disastrous results. He still couldn't remember what had happened for about a week after that, his memory yielding a black hole of nothing. This wasn't unusual for the scrawny boy, he had gaps in his memory as far back as he could remember. What he did remember, though, was waking up in a lot more pain than he had before the phone call. His hand was especially swollen, and still twinged off and on. It was too bad that Hermione didn't try to call, since she would've known how to use a telephone and had the sense not to mention she was from Hogwarts. Abruptly he cut off that line of thought; it was becoming too painful. He couldn't help but worry about his Hogwarts assignments though. He had yet to complete a single one. The reason for that being Dudley, who had caught him trying to pick the lock on the cupboard door, where his trunk, filled with all his school things, had been locked away from the moment he came back to his relatives' house. He had almost thought he might get away with it, but of course he never got away with anything at his relatives' house. All his luck had to be saved for escaping Voldemort during the school year. They had all been out front, admiring Uncle Vernon's new company car (in loud voices so the neighbors would hear) when Dudley decided to come in for a snack. Unfortunately for Harry, he hadn't heard his overweight cousin's thumping footsteps until it was too late. Dudley had called out in glee for his Uncle to come and see what he was doing. He suspected the only reason they hadn't burned his wizard things by now was out of fear that they might suddenly be beset by an angry horde of "freaks" as his Aunt Petunia liked to call them. The next thing he knew, his Uncle was bearing down on him like an angry rhino, face an unpleasant shade of puce and the vein in his temple throbbing at an unhealthy rate. Then nothing, again. Another one of those annoying memory lapses! It was better to give up, he knew from experience that he would never remember anything and only make himself more annoyed trying.

Harry ran a hand through his untidy black hair in frustration, tugging slightly on the strands before releasing them back to their constant imitation of a rat's nest. He glanced over at the clock again, noticing with some surprise that it now read 11:59. A twinge of excitement ran through him as he realized that he would be thirteen in only one more minute. He counted down the seconds in his head. Twelve... eleven... ten... nine... eight... seven... six... five... four... three... two... one...

"Happy Birthday, Harry," he whispered to the darkness. He allowed himself a small, bittersweet smile, wishing that someone else might be there to wish him a happy birthday too. Not even Hedwig was there. When no giants came crashing through the door, not that he expected any to, he rolled over sadly and drifted off to sleep.

Harry's slumber was rudely interrupted, however, by a sharp knocking on the windowpane about an hour later. He blearily opened his emerald eyes to find a strange shape hovering outside his window. For a split second he thought Ron had returned in his father's (now wild) flying Ford Angela to rescue him, but no, it was some sort of creature. Reaching for his glasses, he realized the shape was an assortment of owls as he heard a familiar hoot.

"Hedwig!" he whispered excitedly. He hadn't seen her for days but wasn't worried, she had stayed out that long before and always came back when she was needed.

He rushed to open the window wide enough for the two owls, holding what looked to be another unconscious owl (or a rumpled gray feather duster) in their grasp. They fluttered in through the window and deposited the gray owl, that he now saw carried a large package, on Harry's bed with a soft _fwump_ before settling themselves down gracefully. Harry knew of only one owl that could fit the gray's description; Errol, the Weasley's owl! He grinned hugely as he hurriedly untied the cords from around Errol's legs before carrying him to Hedwig's cage. Errol cracked one eye and gave a feeble hoot of thanks before clumsily downing some water.

Harry looked back to the other owls. One was his very own Hedwig, carrying a package herself and looking extremely pleased. The other was a handsome tawny owl that he didn't recognize, but after glancing at the letter attached to its package he saw the Hogwart's crest blazing nobly up at him. He first relieved Hedwig of her burden, receiving an affectionate nip from her beak before she flew across the room to join Errol. The Hogwart's owl stood importantly as he untethered it. Once free, it ruffled its feathers elegantly, stretched its wings, and soared out the window into the night over the moonlit rooftops of Privet Drive.

Harry arranged his presents on his bed and sat down next to them, reaching for the brown package from the Weasleys. He ripped off the brown paper and discovered a present wrapped in gold as well as his first ever birthday card. He opened the envelope reverently, finding a newspaper clipping and a letter within. The newspaper showed all nine Weasleys waving enthusiastically (plus Ron's pet rat Scabbers, sleeping) in front of a majestic pyramid. The caption read that Arthur Weasley had won the annual _Daily Prophet_ Grand Prize Galleon Draw and chose to take the family to Egypt to visit Bill Weasley, who worked as a curse breaker for Gringotts there. Harry looked down on the miniature family, grinning. He couldn't think of a better family to win the money, as the Weasleys were as poor as they were kind. He then unfolded Ron's letter, which held birthday wishes, tales of his trip to Egypt, and an invitation to shop for school supplies together a week before term started. Still smiling, Harry opened the gaudily-wrapped present to find what looked like a small glass spinning top inside, along with another note from Ron. The note described the object as a Pocket Sneakoscope, saying that it would light up and spin if someone untrustworthy was around. Harry placed the Sneakoscope on his bedside table, surprised that it didn't light up. After all, the Dursleys were generally untrustworthy folks. Instead it sat perfectly still, balanced on its point, reflecting the faint light from his clock. He stared at it happily for a few more moments before turning to the parcel Hedwig had brought.

The scrawny boy opened the package to find another gift-wrapped present along with a letter from Hermione. Unfolding the paper to find her neat cursive, he read that she was on holiday with her parents in France, learning quite a lot about magic while there, and that she was having trouble getting him his present until Hedwig showed up. She also issued him another invitation to London the week before term. The P.S. contained a few short sentences, "Ron says Percy's head boy. I'll bet Percy's really pleased. Ron doesn't seem too happy about it." Laughing quietly, Harry set the letter down and picked up the heavy, rectangular present. Knowing Hermione, he expected it to be a complex spell book, but was pleasantly surprised to find a sleek black case emblazoned with the silver letters _Broomstick Servicing Kit_.

"Wow, Hermione!" he whispered, unzipping the case to check out its contents.

Within was a large glass jar of Fleetwood's High-Finish Handle Polish, a pair of gleaming silver Tail-Twig Clippers, a tiny brass compass to clip on a broom for long journeys, and a leatherbound _Handbook of Do-It-Yourself Broomcare_.

Harry smiled dreamily, wishing he could be back at Hogwarts once again, hanging out with his best friends and playing Quidditch with the Gryffindor team. Quidditch was the most popular sport in the magical world, and for good reason, it was highly dangerous, always exciting, and played on broomsticks. Harry had taken naturally to a broom from the first time he rode one, earning himself the position of seeker on his house's team at the youngest age in a century. One of his most prized possessions was his racing broom, the Nimbus Two Thousand. He frowned, remembering that at the moment, it was locked up in the cupboard under the stairs by his Quidditch-hating relatives. He gently repacked the _Broomstick Servicing Kit_, setting it down on the bed and reaching for the package from the Hogwarts owl.

The last package was addressed in Hagrid's untidy scrawl, complete with another birthday card and containing _The Monster Book of Monsters_, which immediately tried to escape into the dark corners of his room when unwrapped, snapping on his hand as he attempted to capture it. Fortunately it seemed the Dursleys were sleeping deeply and didn't hear a thing. Once it had been successfully subdued, he hurriedly buckled a belt around it. The horrid book shuddered angrily, but couldn't do much else. Sighing in relief, Harry threw it down on the bed and reached for Hagrid's card.

The card was short, wishing Harry a happy birthday and suggesting that the book might come in handy next year. Harry found it ominous that Hagrid would think a biting book might be useful, starting to dread what kind of creatures he would be working with in Care of Magical Creatures that year. Pushing that thought aside, he set Hagrid's card up next to the others, grinning widely. He had grinned more in five minutes than he had all summer! Now there was just the official Hogwarts letter left to open.

As Harry slit open the envelope, he noticed that it was thicker than usual. He pulled out the first piece of parchment, reading a brief message from McGonagall: term would start on September the first, the Hogwarts Express would leave at eleven o'clock, third years were permitted to visit Hogsmeade with the enclosed permission form signed by a parent or guardian, and a list of the books for the next year was enclosed. Harry pulled out the permission form, no longer grinning. It would be amazing to be able to visit Hogsmeade. He had heard it was an entirely wizarding village, but he had never set foot there. It would be a challenge to see if he could get his aunt or uncle to sign the form. Actually, it would be more than a challenge, more like impossible with their hatred of all things magical (including Harry).

He glanced at his alarm clock, seeing that it was now just after two in the morning. Deciding to put the matter of form-signing aside for when he woke up, Harry hid his newfound treasures beneath the loose floorboard under his bed, leaving the cards on the table. He then got back into bed, reaching up to cross off another day on the calendar he had made from a scrap of parchment and tacked to the wall, counting down the days until he could return to Hogwarts. Laying down, he took off his glasses, placing them next to his three birthday cards. He stared at them for awhile before drifting off to sleep.

However unusual Harry was, for once he felt just like anyone else - glad, for the first time he could remember, that it was his birthday.

Harry woke up at six the next morning, as usual, despite the few hours of sleep he had gotten. He stretched, joints popping, before using the loo, making sure not to touch the towels reserved for the 'normal' members of the family. He would've liked a shower to wash the stink off him, but he knew he would catch hell if he did. Instead he made his way downstairs to the kitchen, where he proceeded to start breakfast: mountains of toast, eggs, bacon, sausages, and potatoes. As he pushed the first pieces of bread in the toaster, he hurriedly scarfed one down, nearly choking in the process. He hadn't realized how hungry he was until then, the bread only making him hungrier. The Dursleys had never had any priorities towards Harry's well being, which included feeding him. Food was a privilege to be earned by freaks like him.

Harry blinked, suddenly finding himself serving the finished food onto platters, the cooking utensils all in the sink, waiting to be washed and put away, the rest of the kitchen spotless. The aroma of coffee wafted from the pot on the kitchen table, where his beefy uncle was sitting, currently glowering at him over his newspaper.

"Hurry it up, boy!" he growled, "Don't want the food to get cold, do you?"

"No, Uncle Vernon," He replied monotonously.

His uncle huffed warningly, "Don't you use that tone with me, boy."

Harry settled for silence this time, brining the platters over to the table and setting them down gently. He would've liked to hurl the food in his uncle's fat face, but for one, his uncle would give him hell for the rest of the summer, and two, he needed him to sign his Hogsmeade form. So he just walked back over to the sink, getting a clean dishrag, and began washing the counter.

He heard his aunt's slight footsteps make their way down the stairs and into the kitchen, followed shortly by Dudley's much heavier steps. No doubt the smell of food woke him up, the pig. He glanced over as the pajama-clad pig-in-a-wig joined his walrus father and horse mother at the table, watery eyes glinting greedily and hands already reaching for a few slices of toast, soon to be heavily buttered.

"Turn on the TV, freak," his cousin haughtily demanded through a mouthful of food, all five chins wobbling in sync.

Harry's hands clenched into fists, but he did as asked without complaint. The brand-new TV, a welcome-home-for-the-summer present for Dudley, clicked on, a picture of a dirty, insane-looking man holding a prison placard coming into view. Harry turned back to his cleaning as he listened in.

A reporter's voice spoke, "The public is warned that Black is armed and extremely dangerous. A special hot line has been set up. Any sighting of this criminal should be reported immediately."

The feminine voice continued on, giving the number of the hotline as his uncle interrupted, snorting, "No need to tell us _he's_ no good. Look at the state of him, the disgusting, good-for-nothing layabout! Look at his hair!"

At this, he glanced over at Harry, scowling. Harry's hair had been a long-running issue in the Dursley's household. Unfortunately, there was nothing he could do about it. However, compared to the filthy man on the television, whose gaunt face was surrounded by an elbow-length tangle of matted black hair, Harry felt almost like he was prince Draco Malfoy, never a hair out of place.

The reporter reappeared, moving on to an announcement from the Ministry of Agriculture and Fisheries, when his uncle interrupted once again.

"Hold on!" he bellowed angrily, glaring at the reporter as if he could force her to bend to his will, "You haven't told us where that maniac's escaped from! What use is that? Lunatic could be coming up the street at this moment!"

Aunt Petunia instantly swiveled her bony face towards the kitchen window, as if her husband's prediction might actually be true. She was one of the nosiest people on the planet, and Harry knew she would just love to be the one to call the hotline. She would be the talk of the neighborhood, a hero. Harry resisted the urge to snort. If his aunt was any such thing, he might be seeing pigs fly next. However, he thought, perhaps pigs flying wasn't so far-fetched after all. He glanced over at Dudley, biting his lip to keep from laughing at the mental image of him floating away like a balloon.

"When will they learn," Uncle Vernon continued, pounding one large purple fist on the wooden table and rattling the dishes, "that the only way to deal with these criminals is by _hanging_!"

"Very true," replied Aunt Petunia, still squinting into the next-door neighbor's vegetable garden, no doubt thinking it a supreme hiding place for escaped criminals.

Uncle Vernon drained his mug of coffee, glanced at his watch, and added, "I'd best be off, Petunia. Marge's train gets in at ten."

Harry, who had been drying the frying pan, nearly dropped it in surprise.

"Aunt Marge?" he blurted out, panicked, "She- she's not coming _here_, is she?"

* * *

~A/N I know this first chapter is essentially a rewording of the first chapter of POA, but I promise the story will diverge into a different dimension soon! Please be patient with me!

Next time on The Many Faces: Aunt Marge is coming for a visit! A/N~


	2. Chapter 2: The Horrid Aunt Marge

~A/N I want to give a shout-out to those of you who reviewed, especially JustlikeWater! You really made my day, so thank you. So much so that I decided to be productive today and get another chapter out. I haven't gone over this chapter as much, so if you find any errors, feel free to point them out.

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, blah, blah, blah. Don't sue me. A/N~

* * *

_Last Time: __"Aunt Marge?" he blurted out, panicked, "She- she's not coming here, is she?"_

Uncle Vernon instantly locked his narrowing eyes on the scrawny boy. "What have I told you about making noises, boy?" He growled menacingly.

Harry was confused. He knew that his 'family' never liked it when he spoke, especially asking questions, but his uncle hadn't responded so forcefully before. Or had he?

Dudley tore his eyes away from the telly, smirking. Putting the freak in his place was the fat boy's favorite form of entertainment.

"Well, boy?" his uncle spat through clenched teeth, his ruddy face rapidly deepening in color.

"Uh-uhm... Not to make them?" Harry questioned hopefully, realizing that he was making noise by answering his uncle's question.

Fortunately, that seemed to satisfy his uncle for the moment, as he grunted before adding, "You better remember it, boy. Won't be so easy on you next time." He paused for a moment before continuing, "But while we're on the subject, Marge'll be staying a week. You better behave while she's here, boy, or you'll. Wish. You. Had." His uncle's fat, purple finger punctuated the last three words with jabs at Harry's chest.

Harry fought back the urge to defy his uncle. He meant it this time. If Harry wasn't careful he might end up stuck in his cupboard for the rest of the summer, and assuredly without a signed permission form. This was by far the worst birthday present the Dursleys had ever given him, which included the old, rancid, mustard-yellow pair of Uncle Vernon's socks he had gotten one year.

It seemed his uncle had more to say, as he narrowed his eyes once more, spitting out his next words like they were pieces of rotting meat, "Marge knows nothing of your..._ abnormality_, boy, and you'll keep it that way. Any _funny business_, any at all, and you'll get no food for a week."

Harry opened his mouth, frustrated words of complaint on the tip of his tongue, before something caused him to snap it shut again.

His uncle continued with his list of rules in the same menacing tone, "We've told Marge you attend St. Brutus's Secure Center for Incurably Criminal Boys-"

"WHAT?" Harry roared, infuriated.

Apparently that was the wrong thing to say, as his uncle leapt from the table (more agilely than he expected, really), advancing on Harry with fists raised and teeth bared. A meaty hand shot out, grasping Harry around the neck-

Harry blinked, opening his eyes to find himself in his pitiful excuse for a room, sitting on the edge of the ramshackle bed that his relatives must've found abandoned in an alley. The bed that used to dominate the room, along with the rest of the 'good' furniture, was stored in the basement, protected from the young wizard's _abnormality_. Unfortunately for Dudley, his toys wouldn't fit down there. Harry shut his eyes, rubbing his face. His skin felt swollen, but didn't hurt, surprisingly. His fingers trailed down to his neck, which seemed intact, but swollen as well. He peered over at his bedside table to see the time, straightening up as he saw his birthday cards were missing. He leapt from the bed, eyes searching the room for his missing treasures. All he saw were Dudley's broken-down toys lining the shelves on the walls. Hedwig and Errol were missing from the owl cage as well. Fear gripped his heart as he crawled under the bed, lifting the loose floorboard to peer underneath. He let out a small sigh of relief as he found his presents still hidden. Hedwig and Errol had probably gone flying, but where were his cards?

A single angry tear rolled down Harry's face as he came to the only logical conclusion. His relatives had found his cards and disposed of them. He knew from experience that there was no way to get things back from his relatives once they decided to take them.

He jerked up, hitting his head on the underside of the bed as his aunt's voice suddenly screeched from downstairs, "Get down here, now, Potter!"

Harry hurriedly scrubbed all evidence of tears from his face, glancing back at his clock as he left the room. It was two in the afternoon. He worriedly wondered what day it was, and if Aunt Marge was still here. His fears were confirmed as he rounded the corner of the kitchen, coming face-to-face with his least favorite aunt.

Her blubbery, claw-like hand clamped onto his shoulder. "Ah, there you are, boy. Your Aunt Petunia's been waiting," she said, judging eyes roving his body.

"Erm, yeah," Harry replied bitterly, trying to squeeze around her and into the kitchen. A difficult task, given her bulk.

Marge took one more look at him, narrowing her eyes in an uncanny imitation of Uncle Vernon. "Don't you use that tone with me, boy. Petunia and Vernon may overlook your insolence, but I will not. I knew you were hiding that criminal spark this week. I'll be watching you, boy," she intoned suspiciously, mustache twitching. She abruptly released him, giving him a shove in the direction of his waiting Aunt Petunia. He felt her eyes boring holes in his back as he moved away.

Harry snuck a look at Petunia's prized English Garden Calendar as he walked by, not surprised at it being fifth of August. He only wished he might have disappeared, as he dubbed the strange phenomena, until Marge was gone. At least he only had the rest of today and tomorrow to endure.

"Hurry up, boy," Aunt Petunia snapped. "Start making dinner." She shoved a list at him, taking care to avoid touching him in any way.

Aunt Marge found this a good time to interject, "I'm glad to see the boy earning his keep, Petunia. He's enough of a burden on your dear family as it is. Good to keep the boy's hands busy. Who knows what he might be doing, otherwise." She nodded for emphasis, setting her rolls of fat quivering, before marching out of the room, calling for her 'Neffy-poo.'

Harry's shoulders stiffened as a wave of anger came over him. He only just pushed it back by thinking about the good times he would have with Hermione and Ron in Hogsmeade if he could only _keep his mouth shut_. Huh? For a moment it felt like another voice was telling him to keep his mouth shut, in his head. He shook off the strange feeling, immediately dismissing it as nonsense. He couldn't help but feel on edge, though, after hearing a giant snake slithering around inside the walls of Hogwarts last year.

Aunt Petunia levelled a glare at him, whispering warningly, "Burn anything and you'll have your Uncle to answer to, freak," before turning away, starting out of the room.

A flash of inspiration came to Harry, and he quickly spoke, "Wait, Aunt Petunia."

She spun back around, giving him a nasty look. "What is it, boy?" she snapped, irritated.

"Well, third-years at Hog-" he cut off as his aunt's lips pursed warningly, "ah, my school, can visit the village on weekends..."

"Why should I care, boy?" his aunt bluntly stated, starting to turn again.

"Wait! I have a permission form I need signed in order to go, and I was hoping..."

Aunt Petunia sniffed disdainfully, curling her thin upper lip as if a foul smell suddenly wafted beneath her nose. "Hoping that I'd sign it for you, _freak_? As if I'd touch anything from that _freak house_ they call a school," she huffed, walking away.

Great, Harry thought sarcastically, now his only option was Uncle Vernon.

The rest of the day was torture. He 'disappeared' while making dinner, as usual, coming back to find it ready. Then he had to sit through dinner with the Dursleys, Marge's old, graying bulldog, Ripper, constantly growling at him. He was forced to listen to Aunt Marge's infuriating comments about his bad parentage and lack of manners, always comparing him to her horrid dogs and praising Dudley in comparison. The glassware had started to rattle and shake at one point, after a particularly horrible comment comparing his mother to a deformed dog. Only a _very _pointed look from his uncle, promising punishment, had been able to quell a bit of his anger. They managed to pass it off as a mild earthquake to Marge. Harry could feel his Hogsmeade dreams slipping away with the excuses. And to top it all off, he could hardly eat a morsel of the rich food, his stomach rebelling after only a few bites. By the time he had cleaned up to his aunt's specifications, ensuring every surface was a blinding white or gleaming silver, and went to bed, he could feel his muscles cramping. He had been tense the entire evening, trying to hold his anger in. He could only hope that tomorrow would be a better day, however slim a chance that might be. With that thought in mind, he drifted off to sleep.

He was running. Being chased. Something big was right behind him. He pumped his legs as fast as he could, heart pounding in his chest, but the creature was just getting closer and closer. Suddenly, walls began to close around him. He ran faster and faster, trying to reach the light at the end of the tunnel, but it was no use. Everything went black. He could hear it moving, in the dark. Hunting him. He took a cautious step away from the area the sounds were coming from, freezing as his foot splashed into a pool of water. No, it knew where he was now, it was coming for him. A sharp pain flooded his arm as a giant fang sank into him. He screamed, but he had no voice. A high, cold laugh and demonic red eyes mocked him from the darkness. Poison flooded into his system, burning his veins. He was dying, dying...

Harry gasped, bolting upright in bed. He was shaking and sweating buckets. Another nightmare. He had been having them since returning to the Dursley's for the summer. He guessed it was normal, after being in a life-or-death situation multiple times. All that fear had to catch up with him sometime, right? He glanced at the clock, noting that it was precisely 4:05 in the morning. He groaned softly, rubbing his face and hoping he hadn't screamed this time. His relatives didn't take kindly to having their sleep disturbed.

Harry got out one of Dudley's old books (the only things that still looked new in the room), knowing he would never get back to sleep. He turned on the flickering desk lamp and lost himself in the pages for a while. The gray, pre-dawn sky slowly brightened outside his window and he put down the book to watch the sun rise. It was beautiful, a melody of golds, oranges, and pinks. His life with the Dursleys stood in stark contrast to the lovely sight.

He glanced at the clock again, surprised when it showed 6:05. He needed to hurry to make breakfast on time. His stomach growled, for some reason demanding food now even though it had rebelled against it last night. Shaking his head, he got dressed quickly and made his way to the loo, using it and washing his face. He resisted the urge to look in the mirror, he knew he must look terrible. He smelled better than he had before Marge arrived though, so Aunt Petunia probably let him have a shower.

He stealthily made his way down the stairs and into the kitchen, falling into the familiar routine of starting breakfast, then serving it. Everything was going fine until Aunt Marge came clunking down the steps. He paused, a half-eaten piece of toast in one hand, as the tweed-covered blob came to a rest in the chair across from him. Uncle Vernon immediately sent him a warning glare, as did Aunt Petunia. Dudley was glued to the TV, as usual.

"What are you waiting for, then, boy? Get my tea!" Aunt Marge demanded boisterously.

Harry sullenly put down his toast and poured her some tea from the kettle on the stovetop. He brought it back to the table, setting it before his largest aunt with a dull clink of china on wood. Aunt Petunia hissed, hating to see her dishes abused in such a way.

Aunt Marge was clearly not amused by his antics. "You see here, Vernon, this is just the thing that needs to be beaten out of the boy at that school, St. Brute or whatever it's called. They obviously haven't been whipping him hard enough if he's still causing trouble. You really should phone them, Petunia dear, and tell them you permit the use of extreme force in the boy's case."

She then proceeded to fill her saucer with tea, placing it on the floor for Ripper to drink. Aunt Petunia cringed as flecks of drool and tea marred her spotless tile floor.

Harry clenched his fists under the table. It was becoming harder and harder to keep his anger in check, and he had only been around the woman for a day! Her very presence annoyed him! She always followed him around everywhere he went when she visited, booming out suggestions to improve "the boy's" behavior. She continued to do just that throughout the day, following him around, watching him, as he completed the chores assigned to him by Aunt Petunia. He had gotten more chores since starting at Hogwarts, which was to be expected. Being a wizard-in-training made him twice as much of a burden as before on the Dursleys' normalcy. Fortunately a few of the chores for the day were outdoors, freeing him from Marge's venomous tongue for a few hours. Unfortunately, it was sweltering outside which, besides being the reason Marge left him be, caused him to be miserable anyway, sweating profusely.

The sun, so beautiful that morning, now beat down on his back like a merciless slavedriver. He could feel his exposed skin crisping up, doubtlessly leaving a major sunburn in its wake. He swiped at the sweat dripping from his brow with his forearm before turning back to the flowerbed. The flowers were suffering in the heat as well, so he gave them a good dousing of water, gulping a bit from the hose himself.

His aunt directed him to the shower once he had finished with the garden, telling him he had ten minutes before he needed to start making dinner. That meant five minutes to take a shower and another five to dry off completely and dress (Aunt Petunia would kill him if he went dripping water around the house.) He disappeared again while he was showering, but somehow had gotten clean and made dinner, this time a fancy soup, salmon with vegetables, and lemon merengue pie for desert. They broke out the wine as well, to celebrate Aunt Marge's final day in the Dursley household.

By some miracle, they had finished the main course without a single mention of Harry. Some optimism was beginning to return to him, perhaps he could convince his uncle to sign his permission form and maybe even return his birthday cards (if they hadn't already been burned) if the rest of the night went so well. But of course such fortune couldn't last. After Uncle Vernon's tremendously boring speech on Grunnings drills during desert, Harry was called on to make coffee while his uncle brought out a large bottle of brandy.

"Can I offer you some brandy, Marge?" Uncle Vernon asked courteously.

Aunt Marge had already had quite a bit of wine during dinner, her normally red-tinged, flabby face now a deep, swollen burgundy.

"Oh, yes, Vernon. Just a small one, though," she chuckled, speech slurred.

Uncle Vernon filled her glass half-way.

"Just a bit more, there...bit more..._thaat's_ the ticket," she pronounced, holding an almost overflowing glass.

Even Uncle Vernon seemed surprised at her version of a "small" drink, and he took everything in generous portions.

Dudley was eating his fourth slice of pie, eyes still glued to the ever-playing television. Aunt Petunia was delicately sipping coffee from a teacup, pinky sticking out. Uncle Vernon was glaring at Harry, for reasons known only to himself, but likely revolving around his nephew's "abnormality". Aunt Marge was tucking into her large brandy, beady eyes glittering with contentment. Harry shifted restlessly, really wanting to escape back to his room before his good luck streak ran out, but one glance at his uncle's face told him he had better stay put.

"Ah," Aunt Marge sighed, thumping her now-empty glass back onto the table. "Excellent nosh, Vernon. It's normally just a glass in the evening, must be on your toes when dealing with twelve dogs, you know." She burped loudly, dabbing her bulbous lips with a napkin. "Pardon." She patted her swollen stomach. "I do love to see such a well-fed, healthy boy," she slurred, winking conspiratorially at Dudley. "You'll grow up to be a wonderful, proper-sized man, just like your father, my Dudders. Vernon, more brandy, if you would."

Her glass refilled, she locked her gaze on Harry, expression souring. "Now, _this one_. Bad breeding, it is. That's why the boy's so runty and pallid," she nodded, "See it all the time with dogs. I had Colonel Fubster drown a pup last year. Pathetic little thing, it was. Weak and underbred," she finished, gaze like a cat that had cornered a mouse and was now toying with it for some vindictive pleasure.

Harry felt a heat rapidly growing in the pit of his stomach, a red tinge starting to invade his vision. If he didn't get out of there soon he was going to lose it.

"It all comes down to bad blood- Now, I'm not saying anything against your family, Petunia dear, but your sister was a bad egg," she patted Aunt Petunia's bony hand with her flabby, plate-sized one, "Even the best of families have at least one. Then she ran off with that no-good laggard of a husband and this is what she birthed."

Harry was now hearing a shrill ringing in his ears, staring determinedly at his plate. Aunt Marge's voice seemed to be boring into his skull with each word, like one of his uncle's drills. If only he could get through the rest of this dinner he would be in the clear.

"That Potter," Marge started, seizing the brandy bottle and attempting to pour herself some, more splashing onto the tablecloth than in the glass, "You never told me what he did?"

Harry glanced up momentarily, seeing his aunt look distinctly nervous, his uncle still glaring daggers at him. Even Dudley had stopped watching the TV. He looked back down at his plate, breathing deeply.

"Ah- He didn't work," Aunt Petunia quickly stated.

"As I suspected!" Aunt Marge boomed, "Probably a drunkard too. A good-for-nothing, lazy scoundrel, feeding off the goodwill of others, just like his-"

Harry had finally had it. He suddenly jumped to his feet, yelling, "He was not!" He had never felt so angry in his life, his entire body was shaking.

The table went quiet for a moment before Uncle Vernon burst in, "Boy, to bed, now!"

Aunt Marge, however, only grew a sly look in her bloodshot eyes. "No, Vernon," she held up a meaty, ringed hand. "Go on, boy. Proud of your parents, are you? Proud that they went and got themselves killed in a car crash, probably drunk, I might add-"

"They weren't killed in a car crash," he spoke forcefully, rage flooding his every pore.

"Why you nasty little liar! They died in a car crash you insolent boy, and left you as an unwanted burden on their decent, hardworking relatives!" Her body seemed to swell with fury as she spat the barbed words, "You're nothing but an ungrateful, impertinent-"

Aunt Marge suddenly stopped speaking. For a moment it seemed words had failed her, leaving her swelling with inexpressible rage, but then she didn't stop swelling. Her huge face expanded, her eyelids pulling back from her bulging eyes and her mouth stretching too wide for speech. Buttons shot off of her tweed jacked like rockets, one narrowly missing hitting Dudley in the head, pinging off the walls. Seams ripped and her elastic waistband snapped with a deafening pop. Her fingers stretched horribly around her gaudy rings as they grew to the size of jumbo salami. She was inflating like some horrible parade balloon, her body inflating like a gigantic beach ball while her arms and legs swelled grotesquely from her sides.

"MARGE!" Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia both yelled simultaneously as her body began to rise from her chair, floating to the ceiling. Dudley just stared, openmouthed, at the horrible sight. Aunt Marge drifted up into the air, entirely round now, emitting sharp popping noises. Her arms and legs twitched uselessly as they stuck out at awkward angles. Ripper dashed into the room, barking madly. Harry had the oddest urge to laugh, his fantasy about Dudley from earlier coming true.

"NOOO!" Uncle Vernon yelled, grasping one of Aunt Marge's feet and trying to pull her down, nearly being lifted into the air himself. Ripper, sensing his mistress was in danger, leapt forward and bit into Vernon's leg savagely. Uncle Vernon immediately let go, howling in pain and trying to shake the dog off.

Harry suddenly realized the seriousness of the situation, racing from the room towards the stairs before anyone could catch him. The cupboard door burst open magically as he neared it and he grabbed out his trunk and broom in a matter of seconds, hauling them to the front door. He sprinted upstairs, throwing himself under his bed and wrenching the floorboard free. He collected his things, grabbed Hedwig's still-empty cage and dashed back downstairs, depositing the smaller items in his trunk as he grabbed out his wand.

Not a moment too soon, as his uncle had managed to dislodge Ripper and burst through the doorway, angrily limping towards him.

"You set her right, boy! You put her right this instant!" his uncle boomed.

"No," Harry whispered, still shaking with rage, "No, she deserved what she got."

He levelled his wand at his uncle, pleased to see his face turn a pasty white.

"Boy..." his uncle growled warningly.

"I'm leaving. I'm done with this. You stay away from me!" Harry gasped, backing towards the door and reaching for the lock.

He managed to get the door open and had started hauling his things out when Uncle Vernon made his move. Unfortunately for Harry, he was distracted by his luggage, unable to get off a spell before his uncle's meaty fist smashed into his head.

Harry's vision went dark as head and fist collided. Little did Harry know that he wouldn't be seeing the light of day for a long time.

* * *

~A/N Hooray! A more original chapter! Poor Harry, though.

Next time on The Many Faces: Stalking Severus A/N~


	3. Chapter 3: The New Defense Professor

~A/N Thank you again to my reviewers: the mysterious Moi, Zireael07, and JustlikeWater! You give me inspiration to write (I'd still be on the first chapter if not for all of you). I don't mean to be a greedy review-monger, but they are very nice to get.

To JustlikeWater and Moi, you'll have to keep guessing, as I'm not revealing any specifics yet. Though yes, Vernon is more heavy-handed with Harry in this fic than in canon.

I also thought I should warn you, reader, that this fanfic will likely end up being as long or longer than the actual PoA...so beware. There is much more to come.

Now a bit from Severus' point of view, hee-hee. I know I've left you at a cliffhanger with dear Harry, but you'll just have to be patient! A/N~

* * *

Severus Snape stalked through the candlelit stone halls of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, dark robes billowing. His scowling face was obscured in the dim light, giving him an altogether mysterious aura.

The thin, raven-haired man wound his way down halls, up staircases, and through dank secret passages before finally arriving at his destination on the top floor of the castle - the Headmaster's office. He wondered, not for the first time, why the office had been placed in such an irritatingly obscure place, marching up to the stone gargoyle guarding the entrance.

The gargoyle's ugly granite face contorted into an irritated grimace as he approached. He snarled back at it. It didn't move.

Growling, he muttered, "Sugar Quills," as if the items in question were instead a pack of dungbombs. _Where_ the Headmaster came up with such ridiculous passwords...

The gargoyle leapt aside, allowing entrance to the spiral staircase within. Snape stalked up the stairs, pausing at the open doorway revealing a round, airy office within. Spindly, complex instruments were standing on various tables throughout the room, whirring and puffing out small colored streams of smoke. A very old man with long, gray hair and beard was staring at him from behind a lavish wooden desk, blue eyes twinkling irritatingly. He wore a shockingly orange robe adorned with moving neon blue pixies and a matching pointed hat with a small, sparkling metallic tassel on the end. Sometimes the dark man had to wonder if the old codger was colorblind, he chose the most revolting clothes.

"Lemon drop, my boy?" the blue-eyed man questioned genially, holding out a small tin of the muggle sweets.

Rolling his eyes, Severus strode into the room, stopping before the rich oak desk.

"You wished to see me, Headmaster?" he questioned with brevity.

"Ah, yes," the old man said, popping a lemon drop into his mouth, "Always to the point." He rubbed his hands together in thought a moment before gesturing to one of the plush chairs scattered around the office. "Have a seat, my boy," he offered, though the look on the Potions Master's face clearly refused. "I thought I would disclose the new Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor for this year," he spoke, a flash of some unknown emotion flitting across his crystalline eyes.

"Would that not be best revealed at the pre-term staff meeting, Albus? If there is nothing else, I must get back to my potions. Several are quite time-sensitive and Poppy has requested them before the start of term," Severus snapped quickly, hiding his annoyance at having obviously been passed over for the position once again.

"You see, my boy, I wished to resolve any problems that might occur between you and the new Professor," Headmaster Dumbledore continued happily, as if Severus hadn't even spoken.

The old coot never ceased to annoy him with his constant "my boy"ing and calling him up at the most inconvenient times of day. He always spoke as if Severus was still a bratty child, not able to choose what was best for himself. He tapped his foot impatiently, creating a staccato beat on the wood floor of the office.

Dumbledore didn't look to be moving on anytime soon, so Severus impatiently demanded, "Tell me who the blasted Professor is before my potions explode, Albus."

The Headmaster pushed up his half-moon spectacles on his long, crooked nose, peering at the gaunt-faced man over them and chuckling slightly. He stroked his beard a few moments before replying, "Remus Lupin is to be the new Professor this year, Severus. He-"

"Are you out of your mind, you senile old coot? Black is on the loose! That mongrel could guide the traitor right into the castle under our very noses!" Snape yelled, face pinched in anger and horrible recollection.

"He is entirely qualified, Severus! I trust Remus completely. And I'm sure you'll be more than willing to brew him the Wolfsbane Potion throughout the school year," Dumbledore spoke firmly over Severus' complaint, obviously having planned for his reaction.

"He is no longer the school boy you knew. I ask you to give him a second chance," the Headmaster continued gently, the twinkle in his eyes growing subdued and sorrowful.

The tall, dark man snorted, unamused, glaring daggers at the frail-looking old man. He ignored the obvious apology in his eyes. Apologies didn't save lives.

"A second chance, Albus? You expect me to turn blindly away from all the things that man did? I think not. _And_ you ask me to give up my valuable time to brew the wolf a highly complex, expensive potion?" Severus asked incredulously. How dare the coot ask him to give _Lupin,_ of all people, a second chance, he thought bitterly. Next he would be sending flowers to the Dark Lord and going on picnics!

Albus Dumbledore held up a hand, warning the angry man to control himself, "I will hear no more complaint. If you will not give your Professor Lupin kindness, I at least expect you to give him respect. I will provide the Wolfsbane ingredients from the school budget and draw up a timetable for when it is to be completed each month."

Severus cast the Headmaster a dirty look, nostrils flaring, knowing there would be no arguing with the old coot tonight. "If that is all, Headmaster?," he asked coldly, beginning to turn away.

"Yes, Severus," the old man sighed, sounding as if the world had come to rest on his shoulders. "That is all."

Severus began the long walk back to the dungeons, fuming. Not only did he have to put up with Potter's blasted spawn this year, but his childhood tormentor as well. The start-of-term just looked better and better! Fortunately he didn't run into anyone on his way, or they would have had an _unfortunate_ taste of his deep-seeded anger.

Upon reaching his private potions lab, he placed his palm on the thick wooden door for a moment, tapping into the wards. He then threw it open violently, sending it banging against the cold stone wall. Muttering to himself, he set about checking his softly simmering potions. He strode to the end of the line, past five other cauldrons emitting various colored vapors, to check his Dreamless Sleep Potion first. He bent over the cauldron, snarling as he saw it had coagulated into a coal-black mass. Blasted old coot and his meddling interruptions. He would have to restart the Dreamless Sleep in the morning. He vanished the ruined potion with an irritated flick of his wand, moving to the next cauldron.

This cauldron contained a gently simmering lime-green mixture, blue steam slowly rising from its surface. Severus plucked three prepared mint sprigs, dropping them into the cauldron precisely three seconds apart before adding a drop of lavender essence. He then picked up a glass rod, carefully stirring the liquid two times clockwise, then once anti-clockwise, letting a slow stream of magic infuse the concoction. He nodded, pleased, as the potion shimmered, letting off a puff of forest green smoke, before turning a dark, emerald green. He turned up the fire with an elegant swoop of his wand, making a mental note to check the potion in five minutes before adding the final ingredient - mistletoe berries.

He continued down the line of cauldrons in this way, always knowing precisely what the potion within needed to perfect it. This knowledge came from his intensive schooling in the art of potion-making, earning himself a mastery at the youngest age recorded. Through the years he found the softly bubbling cauldrons always calmed him but he found little joy in his work. His true calling had always been the Dark Arts - the one position the Headmaster always denied him.

He returned to the second cauldron a few minutes after adding the last ingredient, peering at the light teal-colored liquid softly bubbling within. He doused the fire, giving it ten minutes to cool before bottling. He moved to the next cauldron, seeing it was also done. The other three potions still needed time to brew.

Summoning a chair, Severus sank heavily into it, resting his face in his long-fingered, potion-stained hands. His lank hair fell messily around his face. The talk with Albus had affected him more than he first thought. Unwanted images and memories were now swirling about in his head as if caught in some kind of vicious whirlpool. He rubbed his eyes, frustrated, attempting to clear his mind. However, the thoughts just wouldn't leave him tonight. Darn that old coot and his insatiable appetite for meddling in other's affairs, he thought angrily. For that was precisely what Albus was doing with this newest scheme; he was bringing Lupin here to try to achieve some petty reconciliation between two childhood enemies. Well, the codger's effort was in vain. There was too much stagnant water left beneath the bridge for any friendliness to _ever_ occur between them, even without Lupin's relations with Black. Honestly, he didn't know what the old man was thinking, permitting the best friend of his- no, she belonged to Potter, he reminded himself bitterly -letting the friend of Lily's betrayer waltz freely around the school. Even thinking of her still sent daggers of icy-cold pain shooting through his heart, which he still possessed, no matter what students might think of him. Sighing, he wondered again at Albus' unfailing, optimistic trust, forever placed in the wrong people. He counted himself among that number. Some just didn't deserve second chances.

Finally he pushed the melancholy thoughts plaguing him aside, rising gracefully to tend to his potions. After he was finished bottling and labeling them all in his neat, spidery handwriting, he cleansed his cauldrons with a muttered spell and sent them off to the cupboard, where they belonged. He then swept from the room, double checking that the wards remained active, before heading to his private quarters deeper in the dungeons. He passed the stretch of wall leading to the Slytherin common room, making an immediate right into an adjacent corridor. His quarters were close enough to his house's common room that he could be present immediately in case of an emergency, but far enough away that he wasn't constantly bothered by the antics of restless children. Few students even knew where his quarters were, which was just the way the mysterious man liked it.

Severus' quarters weren't guarded by a painting or some other frivolous trifle, as many teachers' were, but by highly complex and innovative wards he had designed himself. The private nature of the man combined with the oftentimes volatile and dangerous objects within the rooms contributed to this necessity. Severus melded his magic into the seemingly blank wall, searching out the wards' many trigger points that all needed to be activated in specific order and with extremely fast and precise timing. This sequence changed depending on the magical signature of the person keying into the wards. As of yet, the only other person with access to his quarters was Albus, and even then Severus had the option to override his entrance into the rooms. After successfully activating the points, he spoke a password.

"Lily," the man breathed reverently, watching as the wall shimmered to reveal a plain wooden door. He stepped through immediately, knowing the door would vanish behind him as the wards reset themselves.

He walked blindly past his adjoined living quarters and kitchen, straight down the softly lit stone corridor beyond. He chose the third room on the left - his sleeping quarters, opening the black-painted door. He went through the motions of preparing for sleep robotically, thoughts still lingering in the past. He glanced at the clock on his wall before he went to sleep, seeing it was just past one in the morning. He usually went to bed around this time, having struggled with insomnia for most of his adult life.

Tonight was no different. Severus lay awake for hours though his mind was blissfully blank, staring glazed at the enchanted stars sprinkled like glowing coals across the velvet-black ceiling of his room. Eventually he slipped into the sweet escape of nothingness, but not for long. Soon dreams appeared, featuring a restless pursuit of things lost long ago, regrets and mistakes decorating his unconscious mind.

He would wake with the morning sun on his face, feeling as groggy and restless as ever; wishing, not for the first time, that he could travel back into the past and live his life over again.

* * *

~A/N I do love writing Severus. I really connect with him for some reason, even though I act nothing like him in real life. Hopefully I kept him in character for you!

Let me know of any comments, complaints, or suggestions you have.

Next time on The Many Faces: A new term begins at Hogwarts. A/N~


	4. Chapter 4: Hogwarts, Ho!

~A/N A permanent thank-you to those who reviewed!

Sorry for the long time between updates, hopefully the length of this chapter makes up for it!

I've been pondering the review from SnowWhiteOwl, and have decided to reveal that many things featuring in this fanfic I have (or will have) taken from my own experiences. I'll leave you to decipher that. ;)

Moi, Harry will not be privy to the scene discussed in your review until later on in the story, once some other pieces fall into place. Don't worry though, I fully intend to include it! I'll now leave you in suspense with a rhetorical question: _Was_ Harry unconscious? A/N~

* * *

_Last Time: Harry's vision went dark as head and fist collided. Little did Harry know that he wouldn't be seeing the light of day for a long time._

Harry awoke slowly, eyes fluttering as they detached themselves from the realm of sleep. His first thought was that he was extremely uncomfortable. He then bolted upright, smacking his head on a low ceiling, eyes flicking left and right as he remembered. He had blown up his aunt, tried to make a run for it, and then...nothing. His searching mind met a steel wall, blocking his way to the memories he searched for. He pushed against it, only serving to give himself a headache- well, more of a headache. He opened his eyes wider in the darkness. He had lost his glasses somehow, but didn't need them, seeing as he was back in the familiar confines of his cupboard. He would recognize the room where he had spent most of his childhood even if he had no eyesight whatsoever. Determining that he was alone for the moment, his thoughts traveled back to his body. He felt like he had when he was very young and had gotten so sick that the Dursleys actually considered taking him to the hospital. That is to say, he felt like he had been put through the wringer and then sat on by an elephant. His right forearm, ankle and back hurt especially. Harry closed his eyes, blocking out the pain from his mind. He wasn't sure how he could do this, exactly, but it had worked for him as long as he could remember. As long as he didn't _think_ about the pain, it was like it no longer existed. Eventually his body healed and all was forgotten.

Just then the cupboard door was quickly thrown open. Harry's eyes shot open, the sudden influx of light feeling like a thousand stabbing daggers. He shut them again, groaning.

"Quit whinging, boy!" his aunt's brisk voice snapped. "Get up! Your uncle's gone to work and we're leaving in fifteen minutes."

"Going where?" Harry asked, perplexed.

His aunt shot him a nasty look, lips pursing. "To London, boy. You were begging me to take you yesterday, saying you had to go to that _freak school_ of yours. I only agreed so those 'Ministry' freaks don't come looking for you here, _again_," she hissed. "Now get up already!"

Harry scrambled to his feet, hunching over in the confines of his cupboard. It was September the first already? He hadn't disappeared this long since before he started muggle primary school. _And_ representatives from the Ministry of Magic had come in response to his underage magic, without expelling him? Things just kept getting more and more confusing.

"You're lucky your uncle didn't burn those freakish things of yours, but we wouldn't want any of _your kind_ investigating. As if we were doing something wrong, like common criminals!" She paused for breath, eyes narrowing, and pointed a single bony finger at his chest. "You say a word about what happens here to any of them, and you'll have your uncle to answer to, freak!" His aunt then briskly turned away, snapping, "Go clean yourself up! If you're a minute late I won't be taking you; you can get one of your freaky friends to pick you up."

Harry blinked confusedly, not understanding what his aunt was referring to. Sure his family didn't likehim, but it's not like he was _abused _or something. Strangely though, he felt a sense of anxiety looming in the pit of his stomach. He brushed it aside, stumbling awkwardly out of the cupboard. His right ankle must have been badly sprained, maybe even broken, the way pain was currently shooting up his leg. He gritted his teeth and ignored it. He had been through worse before, especially when he had gotten bitten by the basilisk last year. There was no use being a crybaby now.

He limped stiffly up the stairs to the bathroom, leaning on the counter to look into the mirror. His vision was blurry, but not much worse than normal; his glasses never really did much for him. However, he saw enough to immediately recoil in horror. That was him? He looked like a skeleton, like that criminal, Seri.. Sirius Black, wasn't it? His skin was sunken in dark rings around his eyes, cheekbones protruding out jaggedly. And his eyes- they were glazed and lifeless, a parody of their once-vibrant green. He looked away before he could see anything else, pushing the image from his mind. He had just gotten real sick and the Dursleys forgot to feed him, he thought determinedly. There was no way- there was no way what? The thought slipped away into the crevices of his mind like a rivulet of water into rock. He shrugged. He obviously just looked worse than he felt. Once he was back at Hogwarts he would be fine.

He heard his aunt yelling for him to hurry up so he quickly stripped, taking care not to look at his body, and got in the shower.

He suddenly found himself dressed (in one of Dudley's less-horrible castoffs) and waiting with his luggage in the hall, aunt nowhere to be found. Disappearing while taking a shower was becoming an annoying habit.

"Hedwig!" he whispered joyously, finding her familiar amber eyes watching him reproachfully from within her cage. "I'm sorry I haven't spent much time with you, girl. I'll make it up to you at Hogwarts, okay?" he promised, gently stroking her feathers. She nipped him softly on the finger, signifying all was forgiven.

Harry quickly checked his trunk, making sure all his things were still there. They were exactly as he left them, aside from being a bit jumbled. His familiar Holly wand was even laying on top. He quickly picked it up, tucking it into his back pocket. Suddenly he realized that he would have to get all his Hogwarts supplies today, as he had missed his chance to go with Ron and Hermione. His aunt emerged from the kitchen at that moment, holding a slice of bread and a glass of water. She shoved them at him.

"Here," she huffed, annoyed, as if heavily burdened by the simple act.

Harry ate quickly but found he could only stomach about half of the bread. He felt nauseous even thinking about eating the rest. Perhaps he was still a bit ill, he mused, some nausea lingering over. He gulped down the water, seeing the impatient look in his aunt's eyes. He hurriedly walked (or rather half-limped) back to the kitchen, placing the cup in the sink and grabbing a paper towel to wrap his bread in. He shoved the packet into his pocket and rushed back out to his waiting aunt.

She didn't even glance at him, instead merely opening the door and walking out to the car, purse dangling from her thin arm and short blonde hair waving in the slight breeze.

"Aunt Petunia?" he called tentatively.

She didn't look back.

"Where are my glasses?" he yelled after her.

"How should I know?" his aunt yelled back, frustrated, as she continued towards the car. "Get your things out here! We're leaving!"

Sighing, Harry knew he would have to go without his glasses. If he went to look for them his aunt would surely decide it was too much of a bother to take him. He felt naked without them, but there wasn't anything he could do about it at the moment. He began dragging his heavy luggage out to the car, made much more difficult by the pain in his ankle.

He was attempting to lift his trunk into the boot when he flinched violently, nearly dropping it on his foot. There was a big black creature staring at him from within the neighbor's rosebushes. He strained to get a closer look when it suddenly vanished, as if it hadn't been there at all. He heard his aunt snap at him to hurry up (it seemed to be her favorite phrase, recently) and he heaved with all his might to shove his trunk up over the bumper. Panting and sweating, he finally managed to get it in, laying his Nimbus on top. He paused a weary moment, lights flashing before his eyes, and briefly wondered how he would manage to lift his trunk in the years to come, having to carry all the previous years' books around as well. This was only his things from two years! Then he shut the boot and walked around to the side door, still panting, climbing in the back seat with Hedwig. Harry put the matter of the strange creature out of his mind; he must've just been seeing things.

He looked at the clock on the car's dashboard, seeing it was 7:45. The drive to London would take an hour, so he would have less than two hours to buy all his supplies for this year. This was going to be tough. Hopefully no Dobby-wanna-be's would show up to slow him down this year.

His aunt backed the car out of the driveway and started down the road. Harry was never more glad to leave the sickeningly perfect, cookie-cutter houses of Privet Drive behind.

"Aunt Petunia..." he began, knowing his every word only served to irritate her more.

She ignored him, though her angular shoulders tensed slightly.

"Could you drop me off at the Leaky Cauldron instead of King's Cross? I need to buy my school things for this year..." he looked hopefully at her face in the rear view mirror.

"I'm taking you to Charing Cross; where those freaks _told_ me to take you," placing a disgusted emphasis on the word 'told.' "Anywhere else you can ask for _their_ help. I'm taking enough of my time to drive you there as it is!" she spat, hazel eyes glaring at him from the mirror.

Charing Cross...that was near the Leaky Cauldron. Perhaps some Ministry officials would meet him there? He gulped nervously, hoping that the whole underage magic thing had blown over by now.

The car ride into London was uneventful. The strangest thing that occurred was a young, pigtailed girl gesturing excitedly at Harry's owl from the next car. Aunt Petunia made sure to quickly change lanes.

Eventually they arrived at Charing Cross. His aunt immediately pulled over and stopped, leaving Harry to drag his things from the car and onto the curb. He finally managed and sat, panting, on his trunk as he watched his aunt speed away without a backward glance.

He looked around at the less-than-busy street, trying to find his bearings. He didn't notice any obvious wizards so he assumed that if Ministry employees were waiting for him they would probably be in the Leaky Cauldron. He spotted a bookshop he had passed when coming to Diagon with Hagrid in his first year and set off in that direction, dragging his trunk behind him. He wished wizards had invented trunks with wheels, like the muggle suitcases; this thing was killing him and he hadn't even gone ten feet!

Eventually he made it to the dingy front entrance of his destination - the old, peeling paint on the wooden sign depicting a large golden cauldron emblazoned with the silver words, _The Leaky Cauldron_. Harry opened the ancient-looking door slowly, struggling to pull his bulky luggage in. An older, grey-haired wizard in midnight blue robes graciously stopped to help on his way out the door.

Once his things were inside the Leaky Cauldron, Harry said a quick thank-you to the man and took a glance around the pub. The same dimly-lit interior met his eyes, a surprising amount of witches and wizards crowded around the shabby tables and bar. Fortunately, none of them were paying him attention besides a few curious glances.

He made his way to the restroom in the back, changing into his wizard's robes there. He might as well since he was going to be walking around Diagon Alley, then boarding the Hogwarts Express. It would draw less attention here than muggle clothes. He glanced in the mirror on the way out, doing a double-take as he saw that he looked a hundred- no, a thousand percent better from earlier! He pressed his face closer to the mirror, inspecting his bright, healthy-looking face. Confusion flitted through his mind. Hadn't he looked terrible earlier? He thought he had... but perhaps the light had been playing tricks on him. Yeah, that was it. He had simply conjured up the horrible image from a mistaken glance. It's not like he could see very well, anyway.

As he left the loo he noticed that his trunk and Hedwig's cage seemed much lighter and easier to carry than they had before, almost as if they were floating. He didn't pay it much thought, though; he was on a tight schedule.

He made his way out of the Leaky Cauldron quickly, lest anyone figure out who he was and start a riot like they had his first time visiting. He entered the brick courtyard that connected to Diagon Alley. Boxes and barrels littered the sides of the small, walled area, precariously balanced atop each other. A short, stern-looking wizard in emerald robes looked up at him. The man had short brown hair and a long face. He reminded Harry uncannily of a miniature (and male) Professor McGonagall.

"Mr. Potter, I presume?" the man asked in a stiff, no-nonsense voice, straightening up from where he was leant against the wall. He held out his hand formally.

"Err...yeah," Harry replied awkwardly, shaking the unknown wizard's hand. He had a very firm grip for such a small fellow. He was only a few inches taller than Harry, and Harry was the shortest in his year.

"Derek Hankins, Ministry of Magic. The Minister has requested me to assist you in preparation for your upcoming school year," he stated briskly, locking his brown eyes on Harry's green in a way that warned against further questioning.

Harry gulped, but risked a question. "Why? -Sir," he added quickly when he received an annoyed glance.

"As you know, the murderer Sirius Black is on the loose, Mr. Potter. The Ministry has reason to suspect he may be targeting you." He then turned, cutting off the next question forming on Harry's tongue. Black, the criminal on the Muggle news, was after _him_? He was a wizard? The Ministry man's answer had only caused more questions to spring up in his mind.

Mr. Hankins whipped his wand out of his sleeve and tapped thrice on the brick three up, two across, above the trash can on the far wall. The familiar archway to Diagon Alley formed before them and he ushered Harry through impatiently.

"Your school supplies list, Mr. Potter?" he questioned, looking annoyed as Harry bent to rifle through his trunk.

Harry produced his list and handed it over to the man, who eyed it critically.

He then looked suspiciously back at Harry's trunk, asking reproachfully, "I assume you haven't been practicing underage magic, Mr. Potter?"

"Wha- no, of course not!" Harry quickly said, shocked. He was lucky to have not been expelled for his accidental magic during the summer, as if he would be doing magic now!

The man made a _hmm_ sound through pressed lips. "See to it that you aren't, Mr. Potter. It would be a terrible shame to be expelled at such a young age. Now come on, we have to get going if you're to make the train."

Harry followed the man, noticing that he was heading for Gringotts. That was fortunate, since Harry didn't fancy asking another question and possibly angering the wizard. He looked around as he walked, still as caught up in the magic of the bustling street as he had been at eleven, seeing it for the first time. He smiled wistfully, remembering his purchases and adventures at the colorful shops he passed.

Owls chattered from the dark depths of Eyelops Owl Emporium as they passed, Hedwig hooting back happily. Harry made a mental note to buy some more owl treats for her. They passed a small apothecary a moment later, a strange, toothless old man sitting out front, counting what looked to be unicorn hairs. He was muttering to himself agitatedly, shaking his head slightly. They came to the Quality Quidditch Supplies store a few shops down, Harry pausing to gape at the impressive broomstick dominating the display there. It was called the Firebolt, and it was the most beautiful, elegant broomstick he had ever seen. He could've stood there staring all day, but unfortunately a sharp, pointed cough emanated from behind him, Hankins' powerful hand grasping his shoulder and leading him away. Harry tensed and escaped the hand, his shoulder being very tender for some reason.

Eventually they arrived at the imposing white stone walls of Gringotts, the Wizarding Bank. The same enormous burnished bronze doors and uniformed goblin greeted them. The goblin bowed them in to the second pair of silver doors. Harry looked up, reading once again the warning engraved upon their face.

_Enter, stranger, but take heed_

_ Of what awaits the sin of greed,_

_ For those who take, but do not earn,_

_ Must pay dearly in their turn._

_ So if you seek beneath our floors_

_ A treasure that was never yours,_

_ Thief, you have been warned, beware_

_ Of finding more than treasure there._

Harry had a sudden ironic thought; it would be just his luck to have to steal something from Gringotts in the future. It seemed he was always going places, finding things, that weren't supposed to be found.

Then they were past the doors and into the main room. The white marble floors contrasted brilliantly to the dark walls, giving the long hall the feel of being constantly in the spotlight. Harry suspected that was exactly the effect the goblins wanted. He followed Mr. Hankins as he strode confidently up to a goblin on a stool behind the long counter. The goblin was counting and weighing a large pile of gold coins that seemed of foreign make, but looked up as they approached.

"Mr. Potter would like to make a withdrawal," he clearly spoke.

"Does Mr. Potter have his key?" the goblin asked, training his dark eyes on Harry.

Harry bit his lip nervously. Was he supposed to have his key? Hagrid had brought it the first year, and then he supposed the Weasleys had had it... but where was it now?

"Ehm...I'm n- not sure where it is, sir," he directed at the goblin, glancing down at his worn and faded trainers peeking out beneath his robes. They had been given to him years ago, courtesy of Dudley, but now had holes worn through the sides and bottom.

The goblin's eyes narrowed as his Ministry escort looked confused. Apparently he was supposed to have his key. The goblin held up a long, pale hand, beckoning behind him, and another goblin appeared. Harry recognized him as Griphook, the goblin from his first trip to Gringotts.

"Take Mr. Potter to room forty-seven," the goblin stated dispassionately, going back to counting his coins.

Griphook took Harry back behind the counter, instructing Mr. Hankins to stay behind. He directed him to one of the many gold doors leading off the hall.

"Hello again, Griphook," Harry smiled nervously, trying to be polite.

The bearded goblin paused, seeming surprised, before continuing on, stating, "It is rare a wizard remembers the face of a goblin, Mr. Potter."

"You remember me too, then?" Harry questioned curiously.

Griphook chuckled deeply, stating slyly, "Even amongst goblins you are famous, Harry Potter." He bowed Harry through the door, following behind and closing it.

Harry was still rather nervous. He wiped his sweating palms on his robes, asking, "What's going to happen now?"

Griphook, who had opened one of many ornate drawers on the walls, pulling out a file, replied, "A simple blood-magic test, Mr. Potter, to confirm that you are who you appear to be." He placed the file on a large austere mahogany desk that dominated the room, several matching chairs before it. "Have a seat," he requested politely.

Harry shakily took a seat, wondering what the test would entail. He hoped it wouldn't hurt too much.

Griphook searched through the file, pulling out a sheet of parchment. It seemed to be blank except for a small black square in the upper corner. The goblin then opened a desk drawer, pulling out a small, jeweled silver knife. Harry gulped, not liking where this was going.

"Your hand please, Mr. Potter?" Griphook requested, extending his thin arm across the desk.

Harry hesitantly placed his hand in Griphook's grasp. The goblin's strong, lithe fingers closed around his wrist, pulling his hand forward. Griphook picked up the knife and elegantly slashed at Harry's hand. Harry swallowed a yelp as the pain he expected didn't come. Instead he saw a small red bead of blood forming on his fingertip. Griphook pressed his bleeding finger onto the black square on the parchment, which suddenly glowed gold for a moment, elegant writing appearing where none had been before. His hand was released and Harry rubbed his finger, which had stopped bleeding. That was all?

Griphook quickly snatched up the sheet, glancing over it for a moment before nodding, satisfied. "That will be all, Mr. Potter," he spoke slowly, "Unless you would like to place your wand on file. If so, you may avoid having to redo the test if you forget your key again."

However painless the procedure had been, Harry still would prefer to have his wand tested. He agreed enthusiastically and Griphook withdrew another paper from the folder, this time instructing Harry to place the tip of his wand on the square. The parchment again glowed, this time white, before revealing more cramped writing.

Griphook looked over the parchment, commenting, "Holly and phoenix feather, Mr. Potter. How very unusual." He looked up, seeming to remember something. "Would you also like to be informed of your holdings, Mr. Potter? I apologize for not seeing to this earlier."

Harry was very interested to hear about these holdings he supposedly had, but remembered that he was on a tight schedule. "Er, could you tell me some other time, Griphook? I've really got to get going or I'll be late for the Express."

Griphook nodded cordially, folding his hands beneath his chin. "As you wish, Mr. Potter. I am appointed in charge of the Potter estates and holdings, so you may contact me at your convenience."

"Now, Mr. Potter, how much would you like to withdraw today, from your Hogwarts vault, I assume?" he asked, placing the file back within the drawer and pulling out another thick one, into which he deposited the two forms.

"You mean I won't be going down to the vault?" Harry asked, confused. He had thought that was the only way to withdraw money from Gringotts.

"No, Mr. Potter. You need only visit your vault if you do not wish to proceed with the blood-magic or wand tests, in which case you require a key," Griphook replied amusedly, "if you do not have a significant amount deposited in your vault, or if you wish to withdraw a non-monetary item."

Harry, who by now was reeling with all the new information shoved at him, asked for enough to cover all his school supplies.

Griphook seemed unimpressed with the vague answer, but scratched down some figures on a spare piece of parchment. He then pulled out what looked like a withdrawal form, filling in some blanks and swiveling it around to face Harry.

"Sign here, and place your wand there," he directed, pointing to a line at the bottom and another black box.

Harry did as he was asked, not even bothering to read the form. His mind was on information overload and he needed some time to sort it all out. He had _holdings_?

Griphook disappeared through a door farther into the building for a moment, coming back with a small black leather pouch. Harry eyed it suspiciously, not seeing how enough money for his supplies could fit in there.

"Feather-light, expandable, theft-repelling purses," he explained, "I expected you might need one, so I withdrew the money from your account to pay for it as well as enough for your supplies. It will bond to your magical signature."

Harry took the empty-feeling pouch and looked inside; it was true, there were three separate compartments within containing small mounds of coins. Harry was impressed. All these things he never knew of!

Griphook then led Harry back out to the main room where his escort was waiting impatiently, tapping his foot sharply on the shiny floor. Harry thanked Griphook and bowed to him, hoping it was a polite thing to do. The goblin raised his eyebrows slightly in surprise, but bowed back and wished him a good day.

The rest of the journey through Diagon Alley wasn't nearly as exciting, mostly because he kept being rushed around by Mr. Hankins. He did his best to enjoy the wondrous magic of the shops, though.

They went first to the Apothecary, restocking his potions ingredients. Then to Eyelops to pick up more owl treats for Hedwig. Madame Malkin's was skipped as Harry, surprisingly, hadn't grown much, his robes still fitting him nicely. By the time they got to the bookstore, Harry was well tired of being poked and prodded. He almost didn't notice that instead of the usual paving-stone sized, gold embossed books in the window display, there was a cage containing about a hundred copies of _The Monster Book of Monsters_. They were making a mess of each other, torn pages flying everywhere as they grappled and snapped aggressively.

The manager saw him come in, rushing towards him. "Hogwarts, I suspect?" he asked abruptly.

"Yea-" Harry started.

"Out of the way, the manager snapped, pulling on a thick pair of leather gloves and picking up a large battered walking stick, advancing towards the cage of Monster books.

"Hold on," Harry exclaimed, "I've already got one of those!"

"Have you?" the manager asked, a look of intense relief spreading over his face. "Thank heavens. I've been bitten five times this morning already. I'm never stocking them again, never! It's been chaos! I thought I'd seen the worst when we ordered two hundred copies of the _Invisible Book of Invisibility_- cost a fortune, and we never did find them. But this!" He sighed heavily. "Well...is there anything else I can help you with?"

"Yes," said Harry, snatching the booklist out of Mr. Hankins' hand. "I need... _Unfogging the Future_, by Cassandra Vablatsky."

"Ah, starting Divination, are you?" the manager asked nonchalantly, removing his gloves and leading Harry to the back of the shop, a small corner devoted to fortune-telling. A small, dusty table held stacks of volumes such as _Predicting the Unpredictable: Insulate Yourself Against Shocks_ and _Broken Balls: When Fortunes Turn Foul_.

"Here you are," said the manager, climbing down from a set of steps and holding out a thick black-bound book to Harry. "_Unfogging the Future_. Very good guide to all your basic fortune-telling methods - palmistry, crystal balls, bird entrails -"

The manager continued on, but Harry wasn't listening. His gaze was drawn to another book, resting among a display on the small table: _Death Omens: What to Do When You Know the Worst Is Coming_.

"Oh, I wouldn't read that if I were you," the manager said lightly, seeing what Harry was looking at. "You'll start seeing Death Omens everywhere. It's enough to frighten anyone to death." He chuckled.

Harry, however, was transfixed by the image on the cover. It depicted a large black dog, as big as a bear, with gleaming yellow eyes. It looked oddly familiar...

The manager pressed _Unfogging the Future_ into Harry's hands.

"Anything else?" he asked happily.

"Er, yeah," Harry said, tearing his eyes away from the dog's and consulting his list again. "Uh- I need _Intermediate Transfiguration_ and _The Standard Book of Spells, Grade Three_."

He collected and paid for the rest of his books, the Ministry man dogging his steps annoyingly the entire time.

They exited the shop, Mr. Hankins leading him back down the street to the brick wall connecting to the Leaky Cauldron. Harry, however, had his thoughts back on the creature he had seen just that morning in the rosebushes. He had thought it a figment of his imagination, but now... No, he was just being silly. There was no way he had seen a Death Omen! It was probably just a stray dog that had wandered into the neighborhood. However he couldn't shake the horrible feeling... He ran his fingers nervously through his unruly hair.

Harry only looked up when he saw that they had reached the archway. His eyes leveled on the brick they would tap to get back to the Leaky Cauldron. But instead of tapping the brick on the left, corresponding to the one on the opposite side of the wall, three times with his wand, the short man tapped once on a brick seven from the right side, twelve bricks up. The archway opened, but Harry gasped as he saw it led not to the run-down courtyard behind the Leaky Cauldron, but to platform 9 3/4. The Hogwarts Express' spotless red paint shone brilliantly in the sun, steam drifting lazily out of her smokestack. A cacophony of voices met his ears, emanating from the jumble of people on the platform mixed with the soft mechanical noises of the train and trolleys. Families bustled around, saying goodbyes to their children and helping them drag their luggage on board.

Mr. Hankins tipped his head at Harry, saying, "Farewell, Mr. Potter. Have a good school year."

Harry stepped through the brick archway, it shifting closed behind him. He grinned ear to ear at the welcome sight of the sleek train. He was finally going home.

* * *

~A/N I know I write Severus much more passionately than I write Harry, but that's because I believe Snape to be a much more passionate person (beneath his hard and crusty exterior) and Harry to be more straightforward and down-to-earth. Seeing as this story is from their perspectives I thought I should show the difference in their personalities in my writing. And besides, Severus needs some love! :)

Any comments, complaints, or suggestions, please throw 'em at me! Your thoughts are important to me!

Food for thought: Great is the human mind's capacity to deceive others, but even greater is its capacity to deceive itself.

From here the story will definitely escalate in angst-level. Be ready for a bumpy ride!

Next time on The Many Faces: Dementors on the Train A/N~


	5. Chapter 5: A Dismal Date with Dementors

~A/N Thanks again to my reviewers! I'd give you all hugs, but I'm just text on a webpage.

I do not own Harry Potter, sadly. Otherwise I'd be rich. And famous. Rich and famous. A/N~

* * *

_Last time: He grinned ear to ear at the welcome sight of the sleek train. He was finally going home._

"Harry! Harry!" and "Oy, Harry!" two very familiar voices yelled simultaneously.

Harry spun around searching for, and finding, a familiar gaggle of red-heads plus one bushy brown head making their way towards him through the crowded station platform.

Harry's already huge grin increased exponentially. He was sure his face must be shattering from the width of his mouth. He raised his twiggy arm into the air, waving back enthusiastically at the mob.

As they drew closer, he shouted over the din, "Hey Ron, Hermione!"

"Oh Harry, we were so worried when we heard- well, Mr. Weasley heard about your aunt and all, and then you didn't come to meet up with us in Diagon! Oh Harry, I'm so glad you're alright! You're not expelled!" Hermione blurted worriedly, throwing her arms around him in a crushing hug and almost knocking him off his feet.

Oww. The hug made his already sore back and ribs feel like they were on fire. He did his best to keep from stiffening up, instead patting Hermione on the back and laughing, "I'm fine, Hermione. I'm fine. The Ministry let me off the hook, but my Aunt and Uncle wouldn't let me come to Diagon until today." He heard a loud hissing noise as Hermione pulled back, coming from a wickerwork basket set on her trunk. "What's that?" he asked warily, motioning towards the basket.

"It's a monster, that thing is," Ron spat angrily, glaring at the basket.

"Don't be silly, Ron. Crookshanks is a _wonderful_ cat, isn't he?" she cooed at the still-spitting basket. "Don't worry, Crookshanks, I'll let you out on the train."

Ron jerked his gaze up to Hermione. "No you wont! What about poor Scabbers, eh?" he yelled, gesturing to a lump in his chest pocket. "He needs rest and relaxation!"

They continued arguing as Mrs. Weasley moved in, bestowing Harry with another painfully crushing hug. "So nice to see you, Harry dear. I hope your summer went well," she looked a bit doubtful at the last statement. "Percy's been made Head Boy, you know. I'm ever so proud. Second Head Boy in the family!" He smiled at her and mumbled an affirmative. As she pulled away he saw Mr. Weasley hanging back behind the rest of his family. Harry noticed he looked a bit uneasy. Ginny was lagging behind too, but seeing as she was rather red in the face, Harry assumed she was just embarrassed.

Percy Weasley strode importantly up next, Head Boy badge glimmering on his chest. He solemnly held out his hand to Harry, who shook it, trying not to laugh. "Harry. How nice to see you," Percy said formally, as if they had never met. "I hope you're well?"

Harry rather felt as if he were being introduced to the mayor. He bit down on his lip to keep from giggling. "Very well, thanks," he replied.

"Harry!" burst Fred, elbowing Percy out of the way and bowing flamboyantly before shaking Harry's hand vigorously. "Simply _splendid_ to see you, my boy!"

"Ah, yes!" George cut in, seizing Harry's hand in turn. "Marvelous, marvelous. _Absolutely_ spiffing."

Percy scowled as Harry snorted with suppressed laughter.

"Boys, really," Mrs. Weasley chided, "That's enough now."

Fred spun around as if he had only just seen her, gasping, "Mum!" He seized her hand too, pumping it violently up and down. "How really _corking_ to see you-"

"Enough I said," Mrs. Weasley reprimanded sternly, leveling disapproving looks at the twins, hand placed firmly on her plump hip.

Percy escaped from the throng, nodding back at Harry and bidding him a farewell. He smoothed down his hair and puffed his badged chest out pompously, having caught the eye of a girl with long, curly hair. He strode over, calling, "Penelope!"

George commented exaggeratedly, "Ah, young love!" He and his twin dramatically pretended to swoon, then blew kisses at the couple, who turned away, blushing. Percy's ears looked especially red. Ginny's mirthful eyes met Harry's and she turned her face away, chortling. Harry followed suit.

Mrs. Weasley had turned away for a moment but soon caught on to their antics, bustling over to smack them both upside the head. The twins grabbed their heads simultaneously, protesting irritably to their stern-faced mother. Harry was still laughing; the whole situation was the funniest thing he'd seen in a long time.

"Come on," Hermione said urgently. "We've got to find a compartment!"

There were only fifteen minutes left before the Hogwarts Express began her journey. Ron led the way down the train until they came to a mostly empty compartment. They hurriedly hauled their luggage inside, stowing Hedwig and Crookshanks in the overhead rack, before going back out to say goodbye.

Mrs. Weasley kissed her children in turn, then Hermione, and finally Harry. Harry was a bit embarrassed, but also pleased when Mrs. Weasley gave him an extra hug. Or rather, he would've been pleased if it hadn't hurt so much.

Mrs. Weasley looked at him fondly. "Do take care, Harry, dear," she said, eyes oddly bright. Then she opened her gigantic floral handbag, saying, "I've made you all sandwiches. Here you are, Ron... No, they're not corned beef... Fred? Where's Fred? Oh, here you are, dear..."

Mr. Weasley chose this moment to draw Harry aside, glancing around nervously. "Over here a moment, Harry," he whispered, nodding to a large pillar.

Harry followed him over, leaving the others behind with Mrs. Weasley.

Mr. Weasley rubbed his hands together anxiously, saying, "There's something I need to tell you before you leave, Harry. It's about Sirius Black - the criminal - you've heard of him?"

Harry nodded. Was Mr. Weasley going to tell him more about this criminal who was after him?

"You see," Mr Weasley took a breath, seeming to choose his words carefully, "you must keep yourself safe this year. Those... adventures you've gone on the past few years, you've been lucky. But Black is a murderer - killed twelve Muggles and a wizard in the middle of a crowded street - and though there are some who think you're too young to know... he _will_ be trying to get to you this year." He looked at Harry nervously, assessing his reaction.

Harry knew he should feel scared, but he was just curious. "Why is he after me, Mr. Weasley?" he asked calmly.

Mr. Weasley glanced around again, leaning in closely to half-whisper, "Black was in with You-Know-Who back in the day, Harry. Some say he was You-Know-Who's right-hand man. When he was defeated- well, let's just say that he would do anything to bring back those days. You understand, Harry? He's already escaped Azkaban, which was supposed to be impossible. There's no telling what he may do. The guards said he'd been muttering in his sleep, 'He's at Hogwarts... he's at Hogwarts.' You _must_ keep yourself safe this year, Harry," he grabbed Harry's shoulder, "Black will do _anything_ to kill you. I don't mean to frighten you, but you must understand." Mr. Weasley was looking more and more tense by the second, pleading with Harry.

"I understand, Mr. Weasley," Harry said solemnly, "but I'm not scared. I mean, he can't be any worse than Voldemort, can he?

Mr. Weasley flinched violently at the sound of the Dark Lord's name, but passed it off.

"Harry, I'm pleased you're not scared- I always knew you were made of stronger stuff than Fudge thinks, but I need you to promise-" he was cut off as Mrs. Weasley spotted them behind the pillar.

"Arthur!" she yelled, "What are you doing over there? The train's about to leave!" She began herding her brood onto the train.

"Promise that I'll be a good boy and stay in the castle?" Harry asked, trying not to sulk.

"Not exactly," Mr. Weasley said, looking more serious than Harry had ever seen him before. "I need you to swear to me that you won't go looking for Black."

Harry furrowed his brow, confused. "Why would I go looking for someone who wants to kill me?" he asked incredulously.

"Harry, promise me, that whatever you might hear, you _won't_ go looking for him. This is very important." Mr. Weasley said hurriedly.

A loud whistle sounded guards walking up and down along the train, slamming all the compartment doors shut.

"Arthur, quickly!" Mrs. Weasley shouted exasperatedly.

Harry made to move towards the train, but Mr. Weasley's hand on his shoulder stopped him. "Promise me, Harry!" he cried desperately.

Steam began to billow heavily from the train as it screeched into movement. Harry pulled away from Mr. Weasley's hand, running to the compartment door as Ron threw it open for him. They leaned out the window, waving at a worried-looking Mr. Weasley and an irritated Mrs. Weasley until they rounded a bend that blocked them from sight. What reason did Mr. Weasley know that would make Harry want to seek out a wanted murderer?

Harry took his friends aside in the half-full compartment. "I need to talk to you guys. Privately," he added.

"Go away Ginny," Ron demanded.

Ginny huffed, saying, "Oh, that's nice," and stalked off.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione set off along the corridor with their luggage, searching for an empty compartment. Unfortunately all seemed to be full until they reached the one at the very back of the train. This compartment held only a single man who seemed to be fast asleep next to the window. As the Hogwarts Express was usually reserved for students they had never seen an adult there before, aside from the witch who pushed the food trolley.

The strange man was wearing an extremely shabby pair of brown wizard's robes that had been darned in several places. He looked ill and exhausted, dark bags pronounced beneath his eyes and face pallid. He seemed young, though his light brown hair was flecked with gray.

The trio slid into the compartment, taking seats furthest from the window.

"Who d'you reckon he is?" Ron hissed loudly, sliding the door shut.

"Professor R. J. Lupin," Hermione answered at once, whispering much more quietly than Ron.

"How d'you know that?" Ron asked her incredulously. "How is it that she always knows everything?" he directed at Harry.

"It's on his case," Hermione huffed, pointing at a small, battered suitcase held together with generous portions of neatly knotted string. The name _Professor R. J. Lupin_ was stamped across one corner in peeling gold letters.

"Wonder what he teaches," Ron mused, frowning at Professor Lupin's sickly profile.

"That's obvious," Hermione whispered, "Defense Against the Dark Arts, it's the only vacancy."

Harry, Ron, and Hermione had already had two different Defense Against the Dark Arts teachers in two years. There were rumors that the position was jinxed.

"Hope he's up to it," Ron said doubtfully. "He looks like one good hex would finish him off, doesn't he? Anyway..." He turned to face Harry. "What were you going to tell us?"

Harry explained about Mr. Hankins the Ministry man, leaving out his Gringotts adventure (he still needed time to process that himself), then led into Mr. Weasley's desperate warning. When he finished Ron looked stunned and Hermione had her hands over her mouth, tears swimming in her eyes. She turned away until she composed herself before saying, horrified, "Sirius Black escaped to come after _you_? Oh, Harry... you'll have to be really, really careful this year. Don't go looking for trouble-"

"I don't go looking for trouble," Harry interrupted, peeved, "It goes looking for _me_."

"How thick would you have to be, to go looking for a nutter trying to kill you?" Ron asked shakily.

They were taking the news much worse than Harry had expected. Both Ron and Hermione seemed to be much more frightened than he was. It's not as if Black was any worse than Voldemort, and in his memory they had faced him twice- no, thrice, if you counted that time in the Forbidden Forest (and Harry did) -already. Or rather, Harry had. Now that he thought back on it, Ron and Hermione had never come face-to-face with the evil megalomaniac; it had always been Harry alone, or with Draco. He sneered inwardly, remembering the prat's cowardice.

"No one knows how he got out of Azkaban," Ron said, shifting uncomfortably. "No one's ever done it before, and he was a top-security prisoner, too."

"But they'll catch him, won't they?" Hermione asked hopefully. "I mean, they've got all the Muggles looking for him too..." She looked up at Harry suddenly. "By the way... did you get contacts?"

Ron looked puzzled, obviously not having heard of the muggle invention.

Harry, caught off guard, stuttered, "Wh- what?"

She answered Ron's curious look first. "They're a Muggle form of glasses. It's a lens that you put directly on your eye instead of a frame on your face." She turned to Harry again, asking, "So did you get them, Harry? You look good without your glasses." Her eyes widened and she looked down, embarrassed, quickly adding, "Not that you didn't look good... before."

"Err...I don't need them anymore, but thanks Hermione," Harry lied, unconvincingly. He wasn't sure why he didn't want to tell his friends he had lost them.

Hermione looked suspicious for a moment before Ron burst in, "Wicked. I bet that's _loads_ more convenient."

"Yeah," Harry answered, relieved that Ron seemed to be buying his fib, "it's a lot nicer."

Hermione seemed willing to drop the subject for the moment, as she asked curiously, "About your aunt... you didn't _really_ blow her up, did you?"

"I didn't mean to," Harry said hurriedly as Hermione shot a disapproving look at Ron, who was roaring with laughter. "I just- lost control for a moment."

"It's not funny Ron!" Hermione snapped. "Honestly, I'm amazed Harry wasn't expelled."

"So am I," Harry replied. "Forget expelled, I was lucky not to be arrested."

"Yeah, well, that's probably because you're _the_ Harry Potter. I bet if I blew up my aunt I'd be hauled off to Azkaban. After my mum murdered me, of course," Ron said sulkily.

Suddenly a faint, tinny-sounding whistle filled the compartment.

"What's that noise?" Ron asked suspiciously.

They all looked around the compartment for the source of the sound.

"I think... it's coming from your trunk, Harry," Hermione said tentatively.

Ron stood up and reached into the luggage rack, feeling around in Harry's trunk before pulling out the Pocket Sneakoscope from between a pair of Harry's robes. It began spinning very fast in the palm of Ron's hand, glowing a brilliant orange.

"Is that a _Sneakoscope_?" Hermione asked interestedly, standing up and edging towards Ron for a better look.

"Yeah. Mind you, it's a cheap one," Ron said. "It went haywire just as I was tying it to Errol's leg to send it to Harry."

"Were you doing anything untrustworthy at the time?" Hermione asked knowingly, raising her eyebrows and giving him a patronizing look.

"No! Well... I wasn't supposed to be using Errol. He's not really up to long journeys... but how else was I supposed to get Harry's present to him?" Ron said, embarrassed, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Stick it back in the trunk," Harry advised as the Sneakoscope let out a piercing whistle, "or it'll wake him up." He nodded at Professor Lupin, who was thankfully still sleeping, for now.

Ron hurriedly pulled out a particularly horrid, mustard-colored, brown-stained pair of Uncle Vernon's old socks, stuffing the Sneakoscope inside to mute the sound, before tossing it back in his trunk and shutting the lid.

"We could get it checked in Hogsmeade," Ron suggested, sitting down. "They sell those sorts of things in Dervish and Banges, magical instruments and stuff. Fred and George told me."

Harry was overcome by a horrible sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach as he remembered his Hogsmeade form. He hadn't gotten it signed. His shoulders slumped as he realized he wouldn't be able to visit Hogsmeade this year.

"Do you know much about Hogsmeade?" Hermione asked, eyes brightening in interest. "I've read it's the only entirely non-Muggle settlement in Britain-"

"Yeah, think it is," Ron replied offhandedly, cutting Hermione off. "But that's not why I want to go. I just want to get inside Honeydukes!"

"What's that?" asked Hermione.

"It's this sweetshop," Ron said dreamily, a far-away look creeping into his eyes as a grin spread across his face, "where they've got _everything_... Pepper Imps - they make you smoke at the mouth - and great fat Chocoballs full of strawberry mousse and clotted cream, and really excellent sugar quills, which you can suck on in class and look like you're just thinking what to write next-"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "But Hogsmeade's a very interesting place," she pressed on eagerly. "In _Sites of Historical Sorcery_ it says the inn was the headquarters for the 1612 goblin rebellion, and the Shrieking Shack's supposed to be the most severely haunted building in Britain-"

"-and massive sherbet balls that make you levitate a few inches off the ground while you're sucking them," Ron continued over Hermione, clearly not listening to a word she was saying.

Hermione shot Ron an annoyed look before turning to Harry. "Won't it be nice to get out of school for a bit and explore Hogsmeade? It's bound to be _fascinating_!" she said enthusiastically.

"I'll bet. You'll have to tell me all about it when you get back," Harry said sullenly, crossing his arms and scowling at the floor.

"Wha' d'you mean?" Ron asked, seeming to come down to Earth from his sweet daydreams.

"I can't go. The Dursleys wouldn't sign my form."

Ron looked flabbergasted, then horrified, as if missing out on candy were the worst thing in the world.

"You're not _allowed_ to go? But- no way! McGonagall or someone will give you permission!"

Harry gave a hollow, sarcastic laugh. Professor McGonagall, head of Gryffindor House, was exceedingly strict. She would never bend the rules for_ anyone_.

Ron perked up suddenly, whispering excitedly, "Or we can ask Fred and George, they know every secret passage out of the castle-"

"Ron!" Hermione reprimanded, "I don't think Harry should be sneaking out of the castle with Black on the loose-"

"Yeah, I expect that's what McGonagall will say when I ask her to sign," Harry spat bitterly.

"But if _we're_ with him," Ron continued spiritedly, "Black wouldn't dare-"

"Oh, Ron," Hermione said shortly. She shook her head, irritated. "Don't be daft. Black's already murdered a bunch of people in the middle of a busy street. Do you_ really_ think that two teenagers will stop him from attacking Harry?"

Hermione was fumbling with the straps on Crookshank's basket as she spoke.

"Don't let that _thing_ out!" Ron shouted, but it was too late. Crookshanks leapt lightly from the basket, stretched, yawned, and sprang onto Ron's knees. The lump in Ron's pocket trembled and Ron shoved Crookshanks away angrily.

"Get out of here, monster!" he yelled.

"Ron, don't!" Hermione shouted furiously.

Ron was about to shout back when Professor Lupin stirred. The three froze, tense and watching apprehensively, but he simply turned his head to the window, soft snoring emanating from his slightly his open mouth, and slept on.

The Hogwarts Express was traveling quickly northward now, the scenery outside the window becoming wilder and darker as the clouds overhead thickened. People dashed to and fro past their compartment door. Harry got a good look at Hermione's new cat, as Crookshanks had settled into an empty seat, face turned toward Ron, eyes locked on Ron's top pocket.

The ginger cat was enormous, with thick, fluffy fur. However, it was a bit bowlegged and its face looked grumpy and oddly squashed, as if it had run headlong into a brick wall. At the moment it was poised like a viper ready to strike, yellow, slitted eyes intently waiting for its prey to emerge.

At one o'clock the plump witch with the food cart arrived at their compartment, asking brusquely, "Anything off the trolley, dears?"

Ron looked over at Professor Lupin, still sleeping, awkwardly.

"D'you think we should wake him up?" he asked, nodding in the Professor's direction. "He looks like he could use some food..."

Hermione got up, tentatively approaching Professor Lupin.

"Er- Professor?" she said cautiously. "Excuse me, Professor!" she tried speaking louder.

He didn't move in the slightest.

"Don't worry, dear," the trolley witch said casually as she handed Harry a large stack of Cauldron Cakes. "If he's hungry when he wakes, I'll be up front with the driver."

Harry had the sudden revelation that the Hogwarts Express actually had a driver. He had just assumed it functioned by magic, stupidly. Or really, not that stupidly, seeing as most everything else in the magical world seemed to be, well, magical.

"I suppose he is asleep?" Ron asked quietly as the witch shut the compartment door. "I mean - he hasn't died, has he?" he asked anxiously, giving a nervous laugh.

"No, no, he's breathing," Hermione whispered, taking the Cauldron Cake Harry passed her.

He might not have been very good company, but a Professor's presence in their compartment did have its uses. It was midafternoon and had just started to rain, blurring the rolling hills and valleys into a flat plane of abstract green streaks outside their window, when they heard footsteps in the corridor again. The footsteps drew closer and suddenly their three least favorite people - students, Harry corrected himself, there were people lower on the totem pole of un-favoritism than them - appeared at the door: Draco Malfoy, flanked by his cronies Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle.

Draco Malfoy and Harry had been enemies ever since their first encounter on the train ride to Hogwarts. Malfoy, who had a pale, pointed, sneering face, in Slytherin House. He played Seeker on the Slytherin Quidditch team, the same position that Harry played on the Gryffindor team, but Harry was much better at it (and didn't cheat like Malfoy). Crabbe and Goyle seemed to only exist to do Malfoy's bidding. They were both wide and muscled; Crabbe was taller, with a pudding-bowl haircut and a very thick neck; Goyle had short, bristly hair and long, gorilla-like arms. Together, Harry mused, they could make up the contents of a small zoo, imagining a rat, a bulldog, and a gorilla stuck in a cage, the rat squeaking stupidly at its uncomprehending minions. Or perhaps with Aunt Marge trying to train them. He had to work to keep his face straight.

"Well, look who it is," said Malfoy in his usual arrogant drawl, pulling open the compartment door. "Potty and Weasel."

Crabbe and Goyle chuckled trollishly.

Harry's good mood instantly evaporated, replaced by anger, and he sent a glower Malfoy's way.

He nearly flinched, however, as he heard a distinct voice say "...think's he's clever, does he? Immature idiot." Harry quickly glanced around but could find no source of the voice, which worried him. Hearing voices was never a good sign.

Fortunately Malfoy hadn't noticed his distraction as he had turned to Ron, saying mockingly, "I heard your father _finally_ got his hands on some gold this summer, Weasley. Did your mother die of shock?"

Ron stood up so quickly he upended Crookshank's basket, which fell to the floor. Professor Lupin gave a loud snort.

"Who's that?" Malfoy asked, surprised, taking an automatic step backward as he spotted Lupin.

"New teacher," said Harry, who got to his feet as well, in case he needed to hold Ron back. "What was that you were saying, Malfoy?" he asked in mock-politeness.

Malfoy's steely gray eyes narrowed; he wasn't enough of a fool to pick a fight right under a teacher's nose. Unfortunately.

"C'mon," he muttered resentfully to Crabbe and Goyle, backing out of the compartment. They turned down the hallway and disappeared.

Harry and Ron sat back down, Ron cracking his knuckles.

"I'm not going to take any more crap from Malfoy this year," he said furiously. "I mean it. If he makes one more crack about my family, I'm going to get hold of his neck and..." He made a violent twisting gesture in midair.

"Ron!" hissed Hermione. "Violence is no way to solve your problems. Plus, you need to _be careful_." She pointed discreetly over at Professor Lupin.

But the Professor seemed to still be fast asleep.

They each fell into their own thoughts as the train sped yet farther north, rain thickening. The foggy windows were now a solid, shimmering gray, which gradually darkened until the orange-flamed lanterns flickered magically into life along the corridor and over the luggage racks. The train rattled in the gale, rain pounding an angry tattoo on the glass as the wind roared with the ferocity of a lion, occasional eerie whistles sounding as it brushed against the train. Somehow, Professor Lupin still slept on with all the noise surrounding him.

"We must be nearly there," Ron said suddenly, leaning forward to look past Professor Lupin at the inky black window.

No sooner had the words left his mouth than the train started to slow.

"Great," Ron said enthusiastically, getting up and walking past Professor Lupin to try to see outside. He pressed close to the window, squeakily rubbing a hole in the fog with his sleeve, and peered out. "I'm starving, I can't wait to get to the feast!"

"We can't be there yet," Hermione said confusedly, furrowing her brows as she checked her watch.

"So why're we stopping?" Ron asked, tilting his head slightly as he turned away from the window.

The train continued getting slower and slower. As the noise of the pistons disappeared, the howling wind and beating rain sounded louder and eerier than ever against the windows.

Harry, who was nearest the door, got up, opened the compartment door, and peered into the corridor. Many curious heads poked their way out of other doors along the train, exchanging confused looks.

The train came to a sudden halt, nearly throwing Harry to the ground. Distant thuds and bangs signaled that luggage had fallen out of the racks in other compartments. Then, without warning, the lights all flickered out, then back on, then off again, leaving the train shrouded in complete darkness.

"What's going on?" Ron asked nervously from behind Harry.

"Ouch!" gasped Hermione. "Ron, that was my foot!"

Harry felt his way back to his seat, listening intently. He was used to darkness from all the time spent in his cupboard at the Dursleys, sneaking out at night to snatch a bit of food from the kitchen, and of course sneaking around Hogwarts.

"D'you think we've broken down? We might be late for the feast..." Ron said with disappointment.

"Dunno..." Harry replied softly, straining his ears for the slightest sounds, of which there were many. None seemed unusual though, just distant voices, thumps, and sounds of feet.

There was another squeaking sound as Ron wiped off the window again. Harry saw his dim outline peering out into the night.

"There's something moving out there," Ron said interestedly. "I think people are coming aboard."

The compartment door suddenly slid open, someone falling in and painfully coming to rest on Harry's legs.

"Sorry! D'you know what's going on? Ouch - sorry -" a familiar quavering voice said.

"Hullo, Neville," said Harry, feeling around in the dark until he caught hold of Neville's cloak, pulling him up.

"Harry? Is that you? What's happening?" Neville asked worriedly.

"No idea- sit down..." he replied as Neville shifted.

There was a loud, angry hissing and a yelp of pain; Neville had tried to sit on Crookshanks.

"I'm going to go ask the driver what's going on," came Hermione's determined voice. Harry felt an eddy of air stir as she passed him, heard the door slide open again, and then a thud and two loud squeals of pain.

"Who's that?" Hermione asked.

"Who's _that_?"

"Ginny?"

"Hermione?"

"What are you doing?"

"I was looking for Ron-"

"Come in and sit down-"

"Not here!" said Harry hurriedly as he felt them moving. "_I'm_ here!"

"Oww!" Neville shouted.

"Quiet!" a hoarse voice whispered urgently.

Professor Lupin seemed to have woken up at last. Harry could hear soft movements from his corner. None of them spoke, the sounds of their breathing filling the quiet compartment.

There was a soft muttering, then a slight crackling noise, and a dancing yellow light filled the compartment. Professor Lupin appeared to be holding a handful of flames. They cast his tired, gray face into stark relief, but his eyes looked alert and wary. Harry felt stupid for not thinking of using magic to create a light earlier. He wondered why Professor Lupin didn't just use Lumos.

"Stay where you are," he said in the same raspy voice, slowly getting to his feet with his handful of fire held out defensively in front of him.

But the door slid slowly open before Lupin could reach it, a draft of freezing air seeming to permeate the room.

Standing in the doorway, illuminated by the shivering flames in Professor Lupin's hand, was a black-cloaked figure that towered to the ceiling. Its face was completely hidden beneath its hood. Harry's eyes darted downward, and what he saw made his stomach clench. There was a grayish hand protruding from the cloak. It was glistening as if coated with a thick slime and scabbed, like it was from someone who had died and decayed in water.

But it was only visible for a moment. It was swiftly withdrawn into the folds of the creature's cloak, like the thing had sensed Harry's gaze. From within the creature's hood came a long, slow, rattling breath, as though it were trying to suck something more than air from the room...

And then a wave of intense cold swept over them all, much stronger than the previous draft. Harry felt his breath catch in his chest, as if a vicious creature were clawing its way through his heart, leaving an icy black hole in its wake. The cold was much deeper than the skin, permeating into his very bones with a fierce, aching emptiness.

Harry struggled against the invisible force pinning him down, stopping his breath. His eyes rolled up in his head. He couldn't see! He couldn't breathe! He was drowning in the cold abyss. There was a rushing in his ears, like his heart was beating much too fast, and yet much too slow. He was being dragged downward. The roaring grew louder-

He found himself huddled on the floor, knees drawn up in a fetal position, arms protecting his head, back against the wall. He looked up, uncurling himself, to find a group of worried faces staring back at him. The lanterns flickered above as the floor shook - the Hogwarts Express was up and running again. He seemed to have passed out on the floor, or something. Ron and Hermione were kneeling a short ways away and above them he could see Professor Lupin and Neville watching. He felt very ill. He raised a shaking hand to his face, feeling the cold clamminess of his skin.

"Harry...are you alright, mate?" Ron asked, fear flickering in his eyes.

"Yeah... I think so," Harry replied, struggling to stand up, eyes flicking to the door, which was now mercifully monster-free.

Hermione and Ron helped him back to his seat.

"What happened? Where's that- that thing?" Harry asked.

"Are you sure you're okay, Harry?" Hermione asked nervously, everyone's pale faces still turned towards him.

"I'm fine, Hermione. But what happened?" Harry persisted.

"Well..." Hermione trailed off, for once seeming to be at a loss of what to say.

"You were screaming," Ron said nervously, always the master of subtlety.

"I- what?" Harry sputtered.

Everyone jumped as a loud snap resonated in the silent compartment. Professor Lupin was breaking an enormous slab of chocolate into pieces.

"Here," he said, holding out a particularly large piece to Harry. "Eat it. It'll help."

Harry took the chocolate but didn't eat it.

"What happened?" he asked again.

"Well..." Hermione tried again.

"That was a dementor," Professor Lupin said, now passing out chocolate to everyone else. "One of the dementors of Azkaban."

Everyone stared at him, wide-eyed. Professor Lupin casually crumpled up the empty chocolate wrapper and put it in his pocket.

"Eat," he repeated. "It'll help. Now if you'll excuse me, I need to have a word with the driver..."

He brushed past Harry and disappeared into the corridor.

"You're sure you're all right, Harry?" Hermione asked again anxiously, worry shining in her deep brown eyes.

"I said I'm fine, Hermione. Now would someone tell me what happened?" he asked, exasperated, wiping cold sweat off his face.

"Well - that thing - the dementor - stood there and looked around (I mean, I think it did, I couldn't see its face) and you- you-"

"You sort of went rigid and fell out of your seat and started twitching-" Ron cut off, still looking scared. "I thought you were having a fit or something."

"And Professor Lupin stepped over you, toward the dementor, and pulled out his wand," Hermione continued, seeming to regain her speech, "and he said 'None of us is hiding Sirius Black under our cloaks. Go.' But the dementor came closer, so Lupin muttered something and a glowing silvery thing burst out of his wand at it, and it didn't seem to like that and sort of glided away..."

"And then you woke up, and s- started screaming. It sounded like you were being murdered!" Ron said fearfully, voice shaking. "And you backed right into the corner and wouldn't let anyone near you without going nuts..."

"It was horrible," Neville said, shuddering, his voice higher than normal. "Did you feel how cold it got when it came in?"

"I felt weird," said Ron, rolling his shoulders uncomfortably. "Like I'd never be cheerful again..." He hugged his arms to his body.

Ginny, who was huddled in the corner, looking pale and dreadful, gave a small, hiccuping sob. She looked about as bad as Harry felt. Hermione scooted over and gave her a comforting hug before settling in beside her, arm laid protectively across her shoulders.

"Didn't any of you... uh, fall off your seats?" Harry asked awkwardly.

"No," Ron answered, looking worriedly at Harry again. "Ginny was shaking terribly, though..."

Harry still didn't understand what had happened. His muscles felt like limp noodles, his skin still clammy and chilled. He shivered slightly, feeling as if he was recovering from a particularly bad flu. Plus, his painful areas from earlier seemed to be hurting more. He quickly blocked out the pain before it could overwhelm him, but he couldn't block out his emotions. He was frightened, yes, but not overly so. After all, one can't face the darkest wizard that ever lived without overcoming some sense of fear. No, he was ashamed. Why had he fallen apart, having some sort of fit, when everyone else was fine?

Lupin reentered the compartment at that moment. He paused at the doorway, giving a small smile as he looked around. "I haven't poisoned the chocolate, you know," he said teasingly.

Harry tentatively took a nibble, not knowing how his stomach would handle it, and was surprised and pleased to find warmth spreading through his body from his head to his toes.

"We'll be at Hogwarts in ten minutes," Professor Lupin announced, looking carefully at Ginny, then Harry. "Are you alright, Harry?" he asked kindly.

He must've given everyone a fright with his... fit. He didn't bother to ask how Lupin knew his name; everyone knew _his_ name.

"Fine," he muttered, flushing with embarrassment. To have passed out and went nuts in front of everyone!

There wasn't much talk for the rest of the ride, aside from Hermione whispering gently soothing words to Ginny, who was still having trouble holding back her tears. Harry stared glazed into space, flickering thoughts and memories dancing just out of his reach. Every time he tried to remember what had happened with the dementor, he nearly caught a glimpse of something before it was snatched away into the recesses of his mind.

At last, the train came to a much gentler stop at Hogsmeade station. Everyone scrambled to get off, a huge jumble of people, luggage, and animals dashing about the tiny platform. Owls hooted, cats meowed, and Neville's pet toad croaked loudly from under his pointed hat. It was freezing on the platform, the rain driving down in icy sheets, though it was nothing compared to the dementor earlier.

"Firs' years, this way!" a familiar, booming voice called out above the din. Harry, Ron, and Hermione turned, seeing the gigantic, wavering outline of Hagrid at the other end of the platform, beaconing the terrified-looking (even more so than normal) first years forward to the fleet of boats that would take them on the traditional journey across the lake. Harry was glad the weather had been partial to his first journey to Hogwarts, not envying the new students one bit.

Hagrid caught sight of them, yelling, "All righ', you three?" over the sea of heads and hats. They waved at him but had no chance to talk - the mass of students around them swept them away down the platform, shoving and pushing as they went. The trio gave up on Hagrid, succumbing to the tide of bodies shunting them along the platform and onto a rough mud track, where at least a hundred stagecoaches awaited them. Harry could only assume that each was pulled by an invisible horse (or magic), because when they climbed inside and shut the door the coach set off by itself, bumping and swaying in procession.

Hermione and Ron kept shooting him looks when they thought he couldn't see, as if he might suddenly break down again. The faint smell of mold and straw in the old-fashioned coach was a bit unpleasant, but Harry felt much better since the chocolate, though still weak and wobbly.

The carriage trundled up a hill, toward an enormous pair of elegant, wrought iron gates, flanked with stone columns topped with magnificent winged boars. As they drew closer, Harry saw two more towering, hooded dementors standing guard on either side of the gates. A wave of cold sickness washed over him again, threatening to drag him under, and he leaned back against the seat, closing his eyes, until they had passed by. The carriage picked up speed once past the gates, wobbling even more up the long, sloping drive to the castle. Hermione was leaning out the tiny window, studying the many turrets, towers, and candle-lit windows of the ancient castle as they drew nearer. Eventually they reached the foot of the castle, the carriage swaying to a halt. Hermione and Ron got out, Harry making to follow.

As Harry stepped down gingerly, an amused, drawling voice sounded in his ear.

"You _fainted_, Potter? Is Longbottom telling the truth? You actually _fainted_?"

Malfoy elbowed past Hermione eagerly, blocking Harry's way up the stone steps of the castle, his face filled with delighted mirth and pale eyes glittering maliciously.

Ron stepped up beside Harry supportively as he replied through clenched teeth, "Shove off, Malfoy."

Malfoy clapped his hands slowly, mockingly. "So it's true, then! The great potty Potter sent cowering by a mean old dementor," he drawled with feigned compassion. "Poor, poor, Potter."

"As if he wasn't scared at all, the damn-"

Harry spun around, trying to find the source of the voice. It was the same one from when he saw Malfoy earlier! However, his futile actions only served to add fuel to Malfoy's fire.

"Still scared that the dementors are going to get you, Potter? I hope they do, and your little friends too," he sneered.

Ron started forward towards Malfoy but Harry pulled him back, placing a calming hand on his shoulder.

"Is there a problem?" a mild voice asked. Professor Lupin had just exited his carriage, walking towards them.

Malfoy gave Professor Lupin an insolent, haughty stare, taking in the patches on his frayed robes and dilapidated suitcase. With just the barest hint of sarcasm in his voice, he replied, "Oh no- er, _Professor_." He then smirked at Crabbe and Goyle, turning on his heel and strutting up the steps into the castle.

However just before he reached the top his foot slid on the slick stone, sending him crashing down on his bottom, soaking his robes. Malfoy immediately jumped up again, looking around embarrassedly as students giggled at him, cheeks tinted a light pink. He rushed up the remaining steps and disappeared inside, brushing off the assistance offered by Crabbe and Goyle.

Harry laughed. This year hadn't gotten off to the best start, but Hogwarts was his home. Perhaps it wouldn't be so bad, after all. That's what magic was for, right?

* * *

~A/N Feel free to leave any suggestions, corrections, or comments in a review!

Next time on The Many Faces: Snape, Snape, Severus Snape. A/N~


	6. Chapter 6: Potter, That Brat

~A/N Many thanks to those who reviewed.

To saggyherman: I've explained my direction for this fanfic in my author's note in chapter one, but I'll say it again for your beneift. The main events and characters of J. K. Rowling's story will be basically the same, but essentially everything else will be different. Last chapter was similar mostly because there's not that much you can change about a train ride while still covering the important topics, plus it's not quite time for my plot twists yet. :P Otherwise, thank you.

My apologies for the long wait. Life happens, y'know?

I own nothing except the wording that is my own. I am not Ms. Rowling, and never will be. I am not making any money from writing this so suing me would be pointless.

You'll get a slap on the wrist if you steal my sorting hat song, though! A/N~

* * *

_Last Time: He would wake with the morning sun on his face, feeling as groggy and restless as ever; wishing, not for the first time, that he could travel back into the past and live his life over again._

Severus Snape stalked down the torchlit stone hallways of Hogwarts, mind viciously centered on one thing only. The wolf would be joining them at the school tonight. The _bloody_ wolf. Despite his best attempts, the Headmaster would not be swayed in his stubborn sentiment to bring the mangy mongrel here to teach. He _refused_ to listen to the dangers! Severus muttered insults at the both of them under his breath, fuming.

He reached the small teachers' entrance to the Great Hall and flung open the door violently, relishing in the bang it made against the stone wall. He made his way down the long, narrow table to his seat, ten minutes early as always. His sharp gaze roamed around the hall, devoid of students and, for now, werewolves. The only other teachers at the table were Charity, the cheerful Muggle Studies teacher, and Filius, Charms Professor, perched on a precarious stack of books, as always. The Great Hall was beautiful, thousands of floating candles casting their flickering light across the dark house tables, laden with glimmering golden tableware, the enchanted ceiling roiling with black storm clouds and occasional streaks of lightning.

The other teachers trickled in one by one, but for McGonagall, Hagrid, and the wolf. Severus sneered, of course the wolf thought he could be late on the first night, the arrogant monster. He glared down at the table, wishing that he could skip the entire annoying ordeal of the feast and retreat to his abode in the dungeons. Unfortunately he was bound to supervise his new Slytherins and settle them into their new Hogwarts home.

Through the doors to the Great Hall he saw the black-robed students entering, for once not preceded by their inane chattering. At least the dementors were good for one thing, he thought viciously. The wolf had sent a note ahead of the train, telling of the dementors boarding the train. Potter had even fainted. He snorted, precious pampered Potter not able to take the presence of a single dementor. Pathetic. He purposefully blocked out the fact that he nearly collapsed every time a dementor grew near. He had far more horrible events in his past than Potter _ever_ would.

His sharp eyes spotted Potter as he came through the doors, but then immediately turned around and walked back out, along with the irritating know-it-all, Granger, and the insolent redhead, Weasley. Weasley reemerged after a moment, looking somewhat like a lost puppy. He sneered, of course that brat, Potter, would go running off before the ceremony. He would have to teach the arrogant whelp some manners this year, more than ever, it seemed. Especially with the bad influence from the wolf.

Lupin, the wolf in question, was making his way through the students to the front of the hall, dressed as disgracefully as ever. He might as well be wearing rags! Severus leveled a glare at the deceptively pleasant-looking man, curling his lip in repulsion as he took his seat at the teachers' table.

After a few more minutes the new students entered the Great Hall, looking as terrified and tiny as ever. Filius lined them up in front of the teachers' table and he saw that a few of them were openly shaking. If they were sorted into Slytherin they would get over such pitiful gestures soon. No Slytherin would ever compromise his pride by showing fear. To remain calm and collected in every situation is the Slytherin way, even when one wasn't really calm at all.

Filius strenuously carried a four-legged wooden stool over to the center of the hall, nearly falling over in the process. Severus looked away, scoffing; it was a wonder he was even a professor, inviting such disregard from the students. They weren't at a school of _magic _for nothing. He looked back as the tiniest professor placed a patched, dirty, frayed wizard's hat on the stool. Severus wished he could cast a cleaning charm on it; it was a blatant invitation for disease and vermin. If only other Professors didn't have some unfounded ideas that it might "damage" the ancient relic. If it wasn't cleaned soon, dirt would be the only thing holding it together! He glared over at the wolf and his shabby clothing, clenching his fist beneath the table as he restrained himself from casting a few 'correctional' spells on another filthy, disease-ridden object.

Just then the hat moved. It twitched, seeming to shake itself awake. A fat rip opened in the hat's brim and it began to sing, in a slow, gravelly voice:

A time there was when I was young

Don't doubt me, I was there

I sat atop great Gryffindor's head

And life I came to dare

The Hogwarts halls were clean and new

Their secrets not forgotten

And students came from everywhere

Their heads all full of cotton

The founders four, of this school noble

Were different as the sun and storm

But when together called to table

No greater friends had yet been born

These wizards four, of great renown

Are still known yet today

For each held power, strength, and knowledge

The very best of their day

These friends four, together sought

To share their learning deep

With those who worthy came here

To magic school to seek

Great Gryffindor, the boldest one

Chose those who would stand tall

Those who in adversity

Would be bravest of them all

Wise Ravenclaw, the keenest mind

Chose those of intellect

That when left among the stars

Would sit still and reflect

Old Slytherin, the shrewdest thus

Chose pure-bloods just like him

Who yearned for power, glory even

But did not act on whim

Dear Hufflepuff, the kindest heart

Chose those not strange to toil

Who had no place among the rest

But still were fair and loyal

Together these great houses four

Hold strong the halls of Hogwarts

Four pillars balanced, firm to bear

Their learning students' every thoughts

To each house noble, in its own right

I'll sort you, one by one

So try me on, don't be afraid

You're journey's just begun!

The hall burst into applause as the hat finished its song. Severus clapped politely, eyes still trained on the mangy mongrel sitting a few seats over. Gryffindor bravery? More like pigheadedness and irrationality. He would never understand how Gryffindor and Slytherin _ever_ got along.

Filius unfurled a long parchment of names, squeakily calling the first, "Acron, Tina!"

A small, dark-haired girl shakily made her way up to the hat and sat down. The hat was placed on her head and the hall waited with bated breath.

A moment later the old hat yelled, "Hufflepuff!"

Cheers exploded from the Hufflepuff table as the girl hurriedly hopped down from the stool and made her way over. She took a seat and began talking shyly with her new housemates.

The sorting continued in this way, Severus applauding the new members to the Slytherin house. There were a few names he recognized but many he did not. This would be a difficult year for keeping the supporters of pure-blood regime in line, he mused. Since the Dark Lord's defeat more and more half-bloods, and even muggleborns, had been sorted into Slytherin. At least he had gotten the young Greengrass girl, Astoria. Her older sister was exemplary.

Eventually all the new students had found their houses, Filius toting the hat and stool out of the hall. His shock of white hair bobbed up and down as he struggled to keep his grip on both objects that combined were nearly as large as he was.

Severus' sharp eyes immediately spotted Potter and Granger as they snuck into the hall, trying - and failing - to be inconspicuous. A few students even pointed at the boy, no doubt regaling the story of his ineptitude on the train. Good, the brat needed to be shown humility, put in his place.

The Headmaster stood, periwinkle eyes and snowy beard twinkling over the sea of pointed black hats and candles. Severus was infuriated to see Potter whispering to his little cohorts of mayhem, no doubt planning their next escapade at the Headmaster's -and his - expense. It seemed Potter's experience with the dementors had made no dent in his everlasting arrogance.

Headmaster Dumbledore began to speak, voice magically amplified to project over the hall, "Welcome!" He paused, his joyous eyes roaming the student's faces. "Welcome to another year at Hogwarts! I have a few things to say to you all, and as one of them is very serious, I think it is best to get it out of the way before you become befuddled by our excellent feast..."

Severus glared at the Weasley boy, who looked devastated at this proclamation. Was food the only thing the boy thought about? No doubt it was, seeing his abysmal potions work. It was nearly as terrible as Potter's!

Dumbledore cleared his throat and continued, "As you will all be aware after their search of the Hogwarts Express, our school is presently playing host to some of the dementors of Azkaban, who are here on Ministry of Magic business."

As the Headmaster paused, taking a breath, Severus turned his loathing gaze on the wolf. All the dementors in the world couldn't make up for a traitor in their ranks. He knew firsthand the damage a single spy could accomplish. And as if the dementors would keep anyone safe from Black, anyway. They were dark creatures, the Dark Lord had recruited them in the last war. No, they existed to fulfill their unending desire for devouring human souls, not to play nanny to a bunch of schoolchildren. No doubt some daredevil, idiot student, probably Potter, would find a way to provoke them and suffer the consequences.

Dumbledore's lips turned into a slight frown as he continued again, "They are stationed at every entrance to the grounds and while they are with us, I must make it plain that nobody is to leave school without permission. Dementors are not to be fooled by tricks or disguises - or even Invisibility Cloaks," he added blandly. Severus narrowed his eyes; was Dumbledore aware of someone else in possession of one? "It is not in the nature of a dementor to understand pleading or excuses. I therefore warn each and every one of you to give them no reason to harm you. I look to the prefects, and our new Head Boy and Girl, to make sure that no student runs afoul of the dementors," he said solemnly, turning his twinkle-less gaze around the hall.

Nobody moved or made a sound, clearly recalling their recent confrontations with the dementors. A tense silence filled the air.

Suddenly the Headmaster's face changed, lips quirking upward and a soft glint of mirth returning to his eyes.

"On a happier note," he added, "I am pleased to welcome two new teachers to our ranks this year."

Dumbledore gestured towards where the wolf sat and Severus turned the full force of his glare on the deceivingly harmless-looking man.

"First, Professor Lupin, who has kindly consented to fill the post of Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher."

Severus clenched his jaw, just refraining from hexing the man into oblivion. He saw the Potter whelp and his no-good friends clapping enthusiastically, the rest of the hall filled with halfhearted applause. Of course Potter would already be backing the wolf, just like his filthy swine of a father. Always gathering around him a crowd of criminals.

As the lukewarm applause for the mongrel faded away, Dumbledore spoke up again, continuing, "As to our second new appointment, well, I am sorry to tell you that Professor Kettleburn, our Care of Magical Creatures teacher, retired at the end of last year in order to enjoy more time with his remaining limbs. However, I am delighted to say that his place will be filled by none other than Rubeus Hagrid, who has agreed to take on this teaching job in addition to his gamekeeping duties."

Severus sneered, the oaf would likely kill off half his class before the end of the year. He had no business being a teacher, the clumsy barbarian. Honestly, Severus was surprised that one of the giant's many "pets" hadn't offed him yet.

The students, however, seemed to have a different opinion, especially the Gryffindors. Their applause was nearly deafening. Yet over the din Severus distinctly heard the Weasley boy shout something about a biting book, inelegantly pounding his fist on the table. Surely the oaf wasn't _that_ stupid. Then again, knowing Hagrid... Severus felt badly for Madame Pomfrey this year.

The oaf began wiping his streaming eyes and nose on the white tablecloth, and Severus' lip curled in revulsion. No manners, as ever. Eventually the applause died down, of course Potter and his bratty friends being the last to stop clapping. They adored the monstrous man, though Severus couldn't see why. He was practically dangerous to even be around.

Dumbledore waited until the applause was done before speaking, "Well, I think that's everything of importance. Let the feast begin!"

The ancient wizard raised his hands open to the heavens and the golden tableware suddenly filled with all manner of delicious food and drink. A steaming hot order of roast beef with vegetables (mostly vegetables) appeared on Severus' plate. It was sparsely seasoned with no sauces or other frivolous toppings, just as he preferred. All those greasy, sweet concoctions were terrible for the body, and Severus needed to keep his in as good a shape as possible. A mug of tea appeared alongside his main dish, an unsweetened herbal blend that he created himself. It had many benefits, one of which was to stimulate more efficient function of the body and its magic. He surreptitiously cast a spell on his meal to reveal all major poisons, and then another for the more uncommon ones before picking up his mug and taking a long sip. The tea was bitter, but he liked it that way. He immediately felt its warmth seeping through his limbs from his stomach and he let out a small sigh of comfort. His face, however, was as stony and impassive as ever.

Severus tried to ignore the wolf for the remainder of the feast, with little success. The Slytherins seemed to be behaving nicely, once he threw a few warning glares their way, and all seemed to be eating appropriately. The other Professors knew by now that any attempt at conversation would be pointless. His only distraction was the Potter boy, whose friends seemed to be bothering him for some reason. Looking closer, he saw that the boy had little food on his plate, no doubt a futile attempt at rebellion against the meagre food of Hogwarts, well used to lavish meals prepared by his doting relatives. Severus sneered, of course Potter was already acting out of turn.

Finally the feast ended, the Headmaster announcing that the students should return to their dormitories. The last crumbs of dessert fading from the plates, though Severus of course had none. The wolf slunk out of the hall after a few cordial words to the other teachers, no doubt to plan how best to infiltrate Black into the castle. The Potter brat and his companions were making a ruckus with Hagrid at the head table. The oaf was still blubbering over his new promotion, the buffoon. Severus swept from the hall to meet his new snakes.

He waited in the shadows for most of his Slytherins to have made their way into the dormitories before dramatically bursting into the common room. He smirked inwardly as many of the new first-years, lined up in the middle of the room, jumped. The faint green light from the dark lake filtering through the windows and emanating from the flickering lamps added to the dark, looming effect he already carried. He nodded at the Prefect who had escorted the first years, who then left to the dormitories after nodding back respectfully.

Severus carefully surveyed the new prospects for this year, his black gaze burning into them as they trembled fearfully. Twenty-one new snakes this year, three more than last. He stood before them, clasped his hands behind his back, and began his annual speech.

He spoke with a soft, authoritative voice, "Welcome to Slytherin. This house is the most noble house, known for its resourcefulness, cunning, ambition, intelligence, and determination. Though they may be hidden now, each of you were specifically found to be possessing these distinct qualities of this house's great founder, Salazar Slytherin. You will find that the other members of this school will not appreciate these qualities, and will seek out ways to ridicule and degrade you. You must not let them." He paused, letting his stern gaze drift over each of them. "The number one rule of Slytherin is that all members will stand united. If there is a quarrel amongst you, you must settle it in private as soon as possible. If I find you do not, you will face the consequences. Do not reveal any weakness to the other houses or they _will_ use it against you. You must always remember that no matter what the other foolish dunderheads in this school think of you, you must respect yourself. You have within you the potential for greatness, and I expect nothing but the very best from each of you. Seek out your destiny and you will find it." He took a breath, assessing the first-years' reactions. They now looked at him hopefully and curiously, though still tinged with fear. "There are many rules in the house of Slytherin, which you will find posted in your dormitories. I advise you to familiarize yourself with them and with the consequences should you fail to adhere to them," he trailed off ominously, eyes narrowed slightly. "If you need help, you may find one of the Prefects, or come to me in my office during the hours posted on the door. It is adjacent to the potions classroom, with which you will become acquainted with shortly. You can not go to the rest of the school for help, as they will not respect you and will misinterpret your intentions. I, however, will do my best to see to any needs you have while here at Hogwarts. You will be placed into study groups next week and will be required to attend." He gestured to the corridor leading from the common room with an elegant hand, saying, "Boys' dormitories are the door on the right, and girls' are on the left. Your room assignments are non-negotiable. Lights out at ten tonight, you will find the typical curfew posted with the rest of the rules."

The students glanced toward the dormitories, obviously impatient to meet their dorm-mates and get to know them. They would remember his words, though, and heed them. They always did. But he had one last thing to say before they could go.

He looked them sharply in the eyes, wordlessly impressing the importance of his next sentiment. "Remember always that Slytherin is not just a place you will stay, it is your family. It will be for the remainder of your life. Once a Slytherin, _always_ a Slytherin," he finished proudly. "You are dismissed."

The students glanced at him, pausing a moment before starting to make their ways to the dorms. He took note of the most timid ones, making sure to watch their behavior carefully over the next few days. Abuse was common in Slytherin, and it always fell to him to pick up the children's broken pieces. No one else ever saw, or cared. He had even had children from other houses come to him, hearing whispers about his tender hand with his snakes. He was gentle with them because that was what they needed to find strength, that was all. He helped them so that they wouldn't end up as he did, lost forever to the dark.

Then Severus turned around elegantly on his heel, striding out of the room and back into the cold dungeons. They would remember his words, those children, or they would lose hope, the rest of the school constantly gnawing at their innocent, unprepared minds, corrupting their hearts with malice. He wished them the best.

He made his way into his private rooms, turning off into the kitchen to fix himself a cup of tea. Merlin knew he would need it, with all the trouble left for him to fix this year. He sank heavily into his plush black armchair, staring blankly into the dancing fire, its glow illuminating the dark room, and wished that tomorrow and its troubles would never come.

* * *

~A/N Questions, comments, criticisms, suggestions, leave them for me!

Please review: it makes me happy! (And a happy author is a productive author.)

Next time on The Many Faces: Let the classes begin! A/N~


	7. Chapter 7: A Grim Greeting

~A/N Thank you, my reviewers!

I don't own the Harry Potter universe. A/N~

* * *

_Last time: Harry laughed. This year hadn't gotten off to the best start, but Hogwarts was his home. Perhaps it wouldn't be so bad, after all. That's what magic was for, right?_

Harry woke up early the next morning, as usual, laying in his comfortable four-poster bed, listening to the snores of his dorm-mates. Ron, seen as a tuft of red hair poking out from a tangled sea of blankets, was particularly loud. He glanced at the clock, seeing it was two minutes to six.

Sighing, he got up and dragged himself to the bathroom, brushing his teeth, relieving himself, and stepping into the shower. He turned the hot water on, planning to take as much time as he needed. However, as the water hit his back he hissed, flinching out of the stream. He ran his hand over his back gently, hissing again as the pain returned. He was confused. His back seemed perfectly fine: smooth, unbroken skin, but it hurt like heck. Cautiously he edged himself back into the water, suppressing flinches as pain flared from unknown wounds. He had had worse, he wouldn't be a baby about something as insignificant as a bit of pain. Yet as the droplets hit his right arm he flinched again, immediately turning it over to inspect. His brows furrowed as no discernible source of the pain was shown. Shaking his head agitatedly, he set about soaping himself down, purposefully ignoring the pain. At least he didn't disappear this time.

Eventually the pain dulled and his tense muscles relaxed into the comforting heat. He leaned up against the side of the shower, closing his eyes wearily. He was used to being tired, it was a constant companion from life at the Dursleys', but this was worse than usual, even for him. He could only hope that today's classes wouldn't need much concentration.

He had gotten out of the shower and dressed by the time the first of his dorm-mates came in. A sleepy Neville mumbled hello to him and Harry greeted him in return, making half an attempt to tame his unruly hair (the mirror gently telling him it was a lost cause), before making his way back to his bed. He gathered up his school things, cramming them all into his bag, as he didn't know what subjects he would have today.

He glanced at the clock, shocked to see it was five to seven. He never took showers that long! Well, as long as he was at Hogwarts he might as well enjoy it.

He glanced over at Ron, who was now mumbling something about chocolate, a thin trail of drool dangling from his lip. Amused, he decided to wake him.

"Ron!" he yelled, "Get up! Hurry, get up! You'll miss breakfast!"

Ron awoke with a snort, looking around wildly. He spotted Harry's grinning face and scowled.

"Bloody hell, Harry," he mumbled, annoyed, "don't scare me like that..."

Chuckling, Harry replied, "You will miss breakfast if you don't start getting ready soon, Ron. I'll wait for you down in the common room."

Ron always took the longest of the boys to get ready, mostly because he was prone to falling back to sleep in the oddest places. They had found him snoring, slumped over the sinks once. They hadn't let him forget about that for a good long time.

Smiling, Harry made his way down the staircase to the cosy common room, taking his usual chair by the fire. He glanced out a window at the beautiful scenery: blue-gray mountains in the distance, dark against the clear, pale gray sky, the leaves on the trees in the Forest just starting to turn to hues of gold and red, as if in honor of Gryffindor. He sat staring for awhile and had gone into a world of his own when a sudden hand in front of his face jerked him back to reality, flinching.

He looked up at the culprit, seeing Hermione's worried face.

"You okay, Hermione?" he asked curiously.

"Harry... I've been calling you for a few minutes now," she said with concern, biting her lip slightly. "Are you okay?"

He smiled, warding off her concern, though he could tell she wasn't entirely convinced. However, he was a bit worried. He didn't usually zone out that much. If he had been anywhere else he might've been in trouble; he wasn't naive enough to think that Voldemort wouldn't be targeting him this year.

"Yeah, I'm fine Hermione, just a bit tired," he said offhandedly.

"Well, if you're sure..." she trailed off, seeming torn between dropping the subject or pursuing his health.

Fortunately Ron came down at that moment, wanting to get to breakfast. He must've zoned out longer than he thought...

When the trio entered the Great Hall, the first thing they saw was Draco Malfoy, surrounded by a large group of Slytherins. He seemed to be entertaining them with a very funny story. As they passed, Malfoy did an exaggerated impression of a swooning fit, accompanied by a roar of laughter from his audience.

"Ignore him," Hermione said from behind him. "Just ignore him, it's not worth it..."

Normally he would've listened to Hermione, but for some reason he really needed to take Malfoy down a peg today. He opened his mouth to heatedly reply, shocked when the words that came out were very different from what he planned.

"Malfoy! How's your arse from last night? Still sore?" his voice asked mockingly, feeling his face curl into an expression of false sympathy.

Malfoy's cheeks tinged slightly pink but he ignored the comment, instead smirking at Harry (with more malice than usual) and enacting another dramatic swoon, pleading, "Oh, the dementors! Somebody _save_ me!" He plastered a ridiculous look of terror on his pointed face.

The Slytherins all laughed in unison, sneaking sly glances at him to gauge his reaction.

Pansy Parkinson, a Slytherin girl with a face like a pug, stepped forward, shrieking, "Hey, Potter! Potter! The dementors are coming, Potter! _Wooooooo!_"

His mouth spoke again, without his consent, "Oh yeah? I heard that there's going to be a crackdown on stray animals this year. Let's hope you get a collar before then! Maybe you could be Malfoy's pet, if you're lucky!" He felt his face turn pitying. "Oh wait, I forgot." His lips pulled back in a smirk. "You're already his bitch, aren't you?"

Parkinson seemed frozen in shock but Malfoy was now glaring daggers at him, hand clenched around his now-present wand.

He laughed, or rather, this other being controlling his body did. It was a short, sarcastic laugh, unlike his usual boisterous, happy guffaws.

He felt his limbs move, turning his back on Malfoy and directing him to the Gryffindor table, where he took a seat next to George Weasley. Malfoy sneered some insult after him but his fuzzy mind couldn't comprehend it, too absorbed in the impossibility that had just happened.

Hermione seemed at a loss for words, for once in her life. She was staring at him as if he had suddenly sprouted a second head.

"Bloody hell, Harry," Ron gaped, "Where did that come from?"

Harry felt control come back to his body and he blinked rapidly, stunned at the words that had just come out of his mouth. What the hell was that? And more importantly, _who_ the hell was that? Someone, or something, must've taken over his body. He shuddered slightly, remembering Voldemort as a growth on the back of Quirrel's head. If something like that happened to him... He shoved the thought away, repulsed. He opened his mouth, turning to answer Ron, before shutting it again, unable to find words to properly describe what had just happened. He shrugged, hoping that passed for a response.

"What's up with you, Harry, Ron?" George asked.

Harry jerked his head at Malfoy, who seemed to have gone back to reenacting Harry's encounter with the dementor, albeit with more force than necessary, and shooting glares at Harry.

"That little git," George said calmly, rolling his eyes. "He wasn't so cocky last night when the dementors were down at our end of the train. Came running into our compartment, didn't he, Fred?"

"Nearly wet himself," said Fred, casting a contemptuous glare at the blonde.

"I wasn't too happy myself, mind you," George said. "They're horrible things, those dementors..."

"Sort of freeze your insides, don't they?" Fred finished.

Finding his voice again, Harry asked quietly, "You didn't pass out, though, did you?"

"Forget it, Harry," George said, placing a supporting hand on his shoulder. "Dad had to go out to Azkaban one time, remember, Fred?"

Fred nodded, continuing the story, "He said it was the worst place he'd ever been, he came back all weak and shaking..."

"They suck the happiness out of a place, dementors," George said solemnly. "Most of the prisoners go mad in there."

"Anyway, we'll see how happy Malfoy looks after our first Quidditch match," Fred grinned. "Gryffindor versus Slytherin, first game of the season, remember?"

The only time Harry and Malfoy had faced each other in a Quidditch match, Malfoy had definitely come off worse. Feeling slightly more cheerful, Harry reached to help himself to sausages and fried tomatoes. The second he looked at what he was about to put on his plate, however, his stomach did a sickening belly flop. He picked up a slice of plain toast instead, nibbling on a corner. He saw Hermione shooting him a concerned look out of the corner of his eye but George came to his rescue, holding out papers to them.

"Here," George said, "new third-year course schedules."

Hermione immediately began pouring over hers, smiling excitedly. Both she and Ron seemed to have forgotten his scene with Malfoy, fortunately. Or, more likely, they simply had no idea how to address it. Much the same happened whenever the topic of Harry's relatives came up. He would briefly mention that they didn't like him, there would be an awkward pause, Hermione would make some excusing comment and then Ron would change the subject, usually to Quidditch.

"Ooh, good! We're starting some new subjects today!" Hermione gushed happily.

Ron groaned, looking over her shoulder. Suddenly a confused, incredulous look came over his face.

"Hermione," he frowned, "they've messed up your schedule. Look - they've got you down for about ten subjects a day. There isn't enough _time_."

"I'll manage," she replied curtly, "I've fixed it all with Professor McGonagall."

"But look," Ron laughed, disbelieving, "see this morning? Nine o'clock, Divination. And underneath, nine o'clock, Muggle Studies. And-" Ron leaned closer, confusion plain on his face, "-_look_ - underneath that, Arithmancy, _nine o'clock_. I mean, I know you're good, Hermione, but no one's _that_ good. How're you supposed to be in three classes at once?"

"Don't be silly, Ron," Hermione replied shortly, "Of course I won't be in three classes at once."

"Well, then-"

He was cut off by Hermione, who said, annoyed, "Pass the marmalade."

"But-"

"Oh, Ron, what's it to you if my schedule's a bit full?" the bushy-haired girl snapped. "I told you, I've fixed it all with Professor McGonagall."

Just then Hagrid entered the Great Hall. He was wearing his long moleskin overcoat and was absentmindedly swinging a dead polecat from one enormous hand. His black eyes glittered happily.

"All righ'?" he asked eagerly as he came to the trio, pausing on his way to the staff table. "Yer in my firs' ever lesson! Righ' after lunch! Bin up since five gettin' everythin' ready... Hope it's okay..." He grinned dreamily. "Me, a teacher... hones'ly..."

He shot another huge grin at them before heading off to the staff table, still swinging the polecat.

Ron looked worriedly after him. "Wonder what he's been getting ready?" he said with a hint of anxiety.

The hall was starting to empty now as people headed off to their first lesson. Ron checked his course schedule.

"We'd better go, look," he said, pointing to the block labeled _Divination_, "Divination's at the top of North Tower. It'll take us ten minutes to get there..."

Ron looked down at his plate again, intently focused on shoveling food into his mouth as fast as possible. Harry picked at the remnants of his toast, pointedly ignoring Hermione's concerned stare. He just wasn't hungry, that's all.

After they finished the last morsels of their breakfasts the trio bid goodbye to Fred and George and walked back through the hall. As they passed the Slytherin table Malfoy performed yet another reenactment of Harry's fainting fit. The shouts of laughter followed them into the entrance hall.

The journey through the castle to North Tower was a long one. Two years at Hogwarts hadn't taught them everything about the castle and they had never been inside the tower before.

"There's - got - to - be - a - shortcut," Ron panted as they climbed their seventh long staircase and emerged on an unfamiliar landing, where there was nothing but a large painting of a bare stretch of grass hanging on the stone wall.

Harry was feeling distinctly unwell after the trek, nauseous and lightheaded, but he didn't want to worry his friends by complaining. After they arrived at class he'd feel better. He brushed the sweat from his forehead and was surprised at how clammy his skin felt. He hoped he wasn't getting sick again, after what had happened at the Dursleys. He hadn't been sick at Hogwarts and he planned to keep it that way.

"I think it's this way," Hermione said, peering down the empty passage to the right.

"Can't be," Ron frowned. "That's south, look, you can see a bit of the lake out of the window..."

Harry's eyes were pulled to the painting as a fat, dapple-gray pony ambled onto the grass and began grazing nonchalantly. Harry was, by now, used to the subjects of Hogwarts paintings moving around and leaving their frames to interact with one another, but he always enjoyed watching it. A moment later, a short, squat knight in a suit of dented armor clanked into the picture after his pony. By the look of the grass stains and dirt smudges adorning his metal knees, he had just fallen off.

"Aha!" he yelled, seeing Harry, Ron, and Hermione.

Ron jumped slightly, caught off guard by the sudden noise, before casting an annoyed glance at the painting.

"What villains are these, that trespass upon my private lands!" the knight continued. "Come to scorn at my fall, perchance? Draw, you knaves, you dogs!"

They watched in astonishment as the little knight tugged his sword out of its scabbard and began brandishing it violently, hopping up and down in rage. But the sword was too long for him; a particularly wild swing made him overbalance, and he landed face-down in the grass.

"Are you alright?" Harry asked, moving closer to the picture.

"Back, you scurvy braggart! Back, you rogue!"

The knight seized his sword again and used it to push himself back up, but the blade sank deeply into the grass and, though he pulled with all his might, he couldn't get it out again. Finally, he had to flop back down onto the grass and push up his visor to mop his sweating face.

"Listen," Harry began, taking advantage of the knight's exhaustion, "we're looking for the North Tower. You don't know the way, do you?"

"A quest!" the knight shouted enthusiastically, his rage seeming to vanish instantly. He clanked to his feet and yelled, "Come, follow me, dear friends, and we shall find our goal, or else shall perish bravely in the charge!"

He gave the sword another fruitless tug, tried and failed to mount the fat pony, gave up, and cried, "On foot, then, good sirs and gentle lady! On! On!"

And he ran, armor clanking loudly, into the left side of the frame and out of sight.

They hurried after him along the corridor, following the sound of his armor. Now and then they spotted him running through a picture ahead.

Suddenly Harry stopped in the middle of the corridor, his gaze drawn to a plain wooden door along the left wall, unremarkable from the rest of the many doors within the school. For some reason he had the most pressing feeling that they should go in instead of following the clumsy knight.

Ron and Hermione stopped, looking back at him curiously. He shrugged at them and walked over, trying the doorknob. It was locked. Normally he would've just left it be and gone on with his friends, but for some reason he felt that he _needed_ to go through the door.

The knight returned, popping his head into a portrait of a statuesque woman in a garden.

"I say," he said, brandishing a fist, "there be no time for distractions! Our quest awaits, good sir! Come! Come!" He clanked back out of sight, assuming they would follow.

Harry, however, was still fixated on the door. There were many different ways to open doors in Hogwarts. Some had to be asked nicely, while others you had to tickle in the just the right place. Then, others were simply locked, requiring the casting of alohomora. Some weren't even doors at all but merely walls pretending to be! Harry decided to go with the first option. For some reason it just felt right.

"Er, could you please open?" he asked the door, feeling ridiculous.

He should've been surprised when it creaked open, but he wasn't. He had expected it to.

The knight had reappeared again, to the annoyance of the formal woman, who was pointedly ignoring him.

"What mysteries await beyond yonder door, good sir? Perhaps a tool to aid us in our quest?" the knight asked with bravado.

"I think this way is faster," Harry answered truthfully. He really did feel that this was the right way to go, though if someone asked him why he could give them no reason.

"Ah!" the knight exclaimed excitedly. "A hidden passage! I shall lead the way, brave sir, lest we meet some great peril!" And the knight ran out of the picture, his clanking preceding them down the narrow, upward-slanted, windowless hall.

"Are you sure this is the right way, Harry?" Hermione asked. She then whispered, "Tempus ostendo," with a small flourish of her wand, the time appearing in faintly glowing roman numerals suspended in the air. They had only five minutes before class started.

"Yeah, I'm sure," he replied, heading into the dark, torchlit hall after the metallic clanks of the painted knight.

His friends hesitated a moment before following after him. As they emerged from the door at the top of the hall they found themselves at the bottom of a narrow spiral staircase. The knight reappeared in front of an alarmed group of women in crinolines, whose picture hung on the wall of the staircase.

He pushed up his visor and grinned at them, saying, "Good show, sir! You have pushed us nearer to our goal!" His visor flopped back down and the knight struck a powerful pose, during which he overbalanced and nearly fell over. He straightened himself up again and commanded, "Be you stout of heart, the worst is yet to come!" running out of the painting and up the stairs, leaving the women flustered.

Harry, Ron and Hermione hurried after the quick knight, up the spiral staircase. As they climbed they grew dizzier and dizzier, and Harry abruptly had to stop in order to keep his meagre breakfast from making a second appearance. He panted shallowly as he struggled to control his nausea, leaning against the wall. Ron and Hermione stopped also, shooting him concerned sounds of the knight's armor faded away as he kept on without them.

"You all right, Harry?" Ron asked.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Just gimme a minute," Harry replied, voice softer than he would've liked.

"I told you you should eat more, Harry," Hermione chided, worrying her lip.

She opened her mouth to say something else but Harry cut her off, saying, "Look, I'm fine Hermione. I just got dizzy is all."

He pushed off from the wall, swiping a hand across his moist forehead, once again surprised at its clamminess. He hoped he didn't look pale, or Hermione would never get off his back. He trudged up the tight staircase again, his friends lagging behind slightly.

Eventually, after what seemed like an eternity to Harry's roiling stomach, they reached the top of the stairs, greeted by a slight babble of voices. It seemed most of the class had already arrived.

"Farewell!" cried the knight, popping his head into a painting of some sinister-looking monks. "Farewell, my comrades-in-arms! If ever you have need of noble heart and steely sinew, call upon Sir Cadogan!"

"Yeah, we'll call you," muttered Ron as the knight disappeared, "if we ever need someone mental."

Their classmates were all lounging around and talking on a tiny landing at the top of the stairs. There were no doors off this landing, but Ron nudged Harry and pointed at the ceiling, where there was a circular trapdoor with a brass plaque on it. Scrolling letters spelled out "Sibyll Trelawney, Divination Teacher." Harry wondered how they were supposed to get up there.

He looked around, and as none of the other students were doing anything to try to reach the classroom, he stepped back and leant against a wall. Hermione shot him another worried look and he replied with an annoyed one. Fortunately she decided not to pester him again.

After a few minutes of waiting, within which most of the remaining absentees trickled in from the stairwell, the trapdoor suddenly opened, a silvery ladder descending right at Harry's feet. Everyone got quiet, looking at it curiously.

"After you," Ron said, grinning, so Harry climbed the ladder first.

He emerged into the strangest-looking classroom he had ever seen. In fact, it didn't look like a classroom at all, more like a cross between someone's attic and an old-fashioned tea shop. At least twenty small, circular tables were crammed inside it, all surrounded by chintz armchairs and fat little poufs. The curtains at the windows were all drawn, and many lamps were draped with dark red scarves, drenching everything in a dim, crimson light. It was stiflingly warm, and the fire that was burning under the crowded mantlepiece was giving off a heavy, sickly sort of perfume as it heated a large copper kettle. The shelves running around the circular walls were crammed with dusty-looking feathers, stubs of candles, many packs of tattered playing cards, countless silvery crystal balls, and a huge array of teacups.

Harry had a sinking feeling that anything that happened in this classroom would be distinctly unpleasant.

Ron appeared at Harry's shoulder as the class assembled around them, all talking in whispers.

"Where is she?" Ron asked in a low voice.

A soft, misty kind of voice suddenly emanated from the shadows. "Welcome," it said. "How nice to see you in the physical world at last."

Harry's immediate impression was of a large, glittering insect. Professor Trelawney moved into the firelight and they saw that she was very thin; her large glasses magnified her eyes to several times their natural size, and she was draped in a gauzy spangled shawl. Innumerable chains and beads hung around her spindly neck, and her arms and hands were encrusted with bangles and rings.

"Sit, my children, sit," she said, and they all climbed awkwardly into armchairs or sank onto poufs. Harry, Ron and Hermione sat themselves around the same round table.

Harry's sinking feeling grew exponentially, and wouldn't diminish for the remainder of the lesson. After giving out a few vague, frightening prophetic statements, she set them about interpreting tea leaves. Both Ron and Harry were doing horribly. Harry would've thought her a fraud, from her overly-dramatic demeanor and eccentric adornments, among other things, if she hadn't predicted that Neville would break his first teacup and been right about it.

"...that looks like an animal," Ron said, squinting into Harry's cup, "yeah, if that was its head... it looks like a hippo...no, a sheep..."

Professor Trelawney whirled around in a clatter of beads as Harry let out a snort of laughter.

"Let me see that, my dear," she said reprovingly to Ron, sweeping over and snatching Harry's cup from him. Everyone went quiet to watch.

Professor was staring into the cup, magnified eyes bulging, and rotating it counterclockwise.

"The falcon... my dear, you have a deadly enemy."

"But everyone knows _that_," said Hermione in a loud whisper. Professor Trelawney stared at her.

"Well, they do," Hermione continued. "Everyone knows about Harry and You-Know-Who."

Harry and Ron stared at her with a mixture of astonishment and admiration. They had never heard Hermione speak to a teacher like that before. Professor Trelawney chose not to reply. She lowered her huge eyes to Harry's cup again and continued to turn it.

"The club... an attack. Dear, dear, this is not a happy cup..."

"I thought it was a bowler hat," said Ron sheepishly.

"The skull... danger in your path, my dear..."

Everyone was staring, transfixed, at Professor Trelawney, who gave the cup a final turn, gasped, and then screamed.

There was a tinkle of breaking china; Neville had smashed his second cup. Harry briefly wondered why the Professor didn't just fix them with magic. Professor Trelawney sank into a vacant armchair, her glittering hand at her heart and her eyes closed.

"My dear boy... my poor, dear boy... no... it is kinder not to say... no... don't ask me..."

"What is it, Professor?" said Dean Thomas at once. Everyone had gotten to their feet, and slowly they crowded around Harry and Ron's table, pressing close to Professor Trelawney's chair to get a good look at Harry's cup.

"My dear," Professor Trelawney's huge eyes opened dramatically, "you have the Grim."

"The what?" Harry asked, confused.

He could tell he wasn't the only one who didn't understand; Dean Thomas shrugged at him and Lavender Brown looked puzzled, but nearly everybody else clapped their hands to their mouths in horror.

"The Grim, my dear, the Grim!" cried Professor Trelawney, who looked shocked that Harry hadn't understood. "The giant, spectral dog that haunts churchyards! My dear boy, it is an omen - the worst omen - of _death_!"

Harry's stomach lurched as his memories flashed back to the book in Flourish and Blotts, the giant dog on the cover... the dog in the rosebushes on Privet Drive... A cold sweat broke out on his forehead again. It seemed that his premonitions about this class had been correct.

Lavender Brown clapped her hands to her mouth too. Everyone was looking at Harry, everyone except Hermione, who had gotten up and moved around to the back of Professor Trelawney's chair.

"_I_ don't think it looks like a Grim," she said flatly.

Professor Trelawney surveyed Hermione with mounting dislike. "You'll forgive me for saying so, my dear, but I perceive very little aura around you. Very little receptivity to the resonances of the future."

Seamus Finnigan was tilting his head from side to side.

"It looks like a Grim if you do this," he said, with his yes almost shut, "but it looks more like a donkey from here," he finished, leaning to he left.

"When you've all finished deciding whether I'm going to die or not!" Harry said abruptly, even catching himself by surprise. Now nobody seemed to want to look at him.

"I think we will leave the lesson here for today," said Professor Trelawney in her mistiest voice. "Yes... please pack away your things..."

Silently the class took their teacups back to Professor Trelawney, packed away their books, and closed their bags. Even Ron was avoiding Harry's eyes. This avoidance would remain throughout the beginning of Professor McGonagall's transfiguration lesson, in which Harry barely heard her lecture on the topic of Animagi (wizards who could transform at will into animals). After Professor McGonagall transformed into a tabby cat with spectacle markings around her eyes, to which the class had little response, and back into herself, she addressed the class's apathy.

"Really, what has got into you all today?" Professor McGonagall asked, staring around at them all. "Not that it matters, but that's the first time my transformation's not got applause from a class."

Everyone's heads turned toward Harry again, but nobody spoke. Then Hermione raised her hand.

"Please, Professor, we've just had our first Divination class, and we were reading the tea leaves, and-"

"Ah, of course," said Professor McGonagall, suddenly frowning. "There is no need to say any more, Miss Granger. Tell me, which of you will be dying this year?"

Everyone stared at her.

"Me," Harry stated, after a pregnant pause.

"I see," Professor McGonagall said, fixing Harry with her beady eyes. "Then you should know, Potter, that Sibyll Trelawney has predicted the death of one student a year since she arrived at this school. None of them have died yet. Seeing death omens is her favorite way of greeting a new class. If it were not for the fact that I never speak ill of my colleagues-"

Professor McGonagall broke off, and they saw there her nostrils had gone white. She went on, more calmly, "Divination is one of the most imprecise branches of magic. I shall not conceal from you that I have very little patience with it. True Seers are very rare, and Professor Trelawney-"

She stopped again, and then said, in a very matter-of-fact tone, "You look in excellent health to me, Potter, so you will excuse me if I don't let you off homework today. I assure you that if you die, you need not hand it in."

Hermione laughed. Harry felt a bit better. It was harder to feel scared of a lump of tea leaves away from the dim red light and befuddling perfume of Professor Trelawney's classroom. Not everyone was convinced, however. Ron still looked worried, and Lavender whispered, "But what about Neville's cup?" Though, he was surprised that the Professor thought he looked well. He would've thought, from the nausea still turning his stomach and the cold sweat on his forehead, that he would look at least a bit unwell. He shrugged it off. It wasn't like he was sick or anything.

However, Harry continued to feel worse throughout the lesson, his white-knuckled hands gripping the desk as he fought back nausea. By the time Transfiguration had ended he knew he had to find a toilet fast. He excused himself from his friends, attempting a cheerful smile as he told them he would join them later during lunch. Hermione looked concerned again, but went with Ron after he nudged her softly.

He quickly turned around, going to the water closet in a usually-empty corridor somewhat near the Transfiguration classroom. He had barely stumbled into an empty stall and latched the door when he fell to his knees, retching into the toilet and shivering violently. The bitter acid stung his throat as he coughed up a foamy liquid. His stomached heaved again and again, even after it was fully emptied of its contents. Eventually, though, it ended, leaving Harry feeling weak and shaky, his limbs like limp noodles. He grabbed some toilet paper and wiped off his mouth, leaning back against the cool stone wall. This only served to increase his shivering so he bent forward again, hugging his knees and breathing in shallow gasps. Maybe the toast he had eaten this morning had been rotten, he thought. It was the only explanation since he couldn't be sick, not at Hogwarts.

Just then he heard a firm knock on the door, making him flinch violently.

He jumped up, flushing the toilet and running a hand through his hair as he attempted to look presentable. His body still trembled and his breath came in short gasps, though, and there was nothing he could do about that. He reached to open the door when the voice he least wanted to hear softly drifted from the other side.

"Are you alright in there? Do you need the nurse?" Malfoy's voice said. He actually sounded concerned, a tone which Harry had never heard coloring his silky voice before.

His hand paused on the latch. Why did it have to be _Malfoy_ of all people to hear him spewing out his guts in the bathroom? He considered hiding in the stall until he left, but then where would be his Gryffindor courage? No, he would face him head on.

He unlatched the door and flung it open with what little strength he had, glaring into the shocked face of his rival, Draco Malfoy.

"Shove off, Malfoy," he said, his voice pathetically weak.

Malfoy recovered from his shock and narrowed his eyes at Harry.

"Why in Merlin's name aren't you in the Hospital Wing, Potter? I'm sure you'd love to be pampered with get-well cards and gifts from all your little fans," he sneered.

"I'm not sick," Harry replied angrily, or rather, he tried to. He really just sounded tired.

Malfoy gave a sarcastic laugh. "Sure you're not." His eyes lit up maliciously. "So scared of the dementors that you're sick and shaking, Potter? I would've thought fainting was enough."

"Shut up, Malfoy," Harry replied, trying to push past him. Malfoy held in place easily, smirking at him.

"Poor little Potty, so scared of the mean old dementors... Going to cry to Mudblood and Weasel?" Malfoy drawled.

Harry clenched his fist reflexively, but was too tired to form a response. "Get out of the way," he sighed.

"Don't think so," the blonde smirked.

He sneered something else but Harry didn't hear him. There was a strange ringing in his ears that kept growing louder and louder. He blinked, a black haze creeping into the edge of his vision. He came to the sudden realization that he was about to faint, having experienced the phenomena before, and dropped to the floor, completely forgetting about Malfoy for the moment. He rested his head in his hands and drew deep, uneven breaths until the feeling passed.

He looked up to find Malfoy's incredulous face a few inches from his own.

"Like hell you're not sick," he drawled.

"Leave me alone, Malfoy," he said weakly.

Malfoy shook his head, rolling his eyes. "Whatever, Potter," he sneered. "It's your funeral."

With that Malfoy turned and strutted out of the small bathroom, kicking Harry's book-bag on the way out. That was surprising, usually Malfoy milked something for all it was worth, and more. Harry vaguely wondered why he had been in the abandoned corridor in the first place.

* * *

~A/N Next time on The Many Faces: More classes! A/N~


	8. Chapter 8: Malfoy's Mediocre Manners

~A/N I originally planned to make this chapter part of the last one, but it just got too long! I hope you enjoy it, for things will get darker and murkier for young Harry from here.

Thank you for reviewing!

I don't own Harry Potter. A/N~

* * *

_Last time: That was surprising, usually Malfoy milked something for all it was worth, and more. Harry vaguely wondered why he had been in the abandoned corridor in the first place._

Harry absently scratched at his sore arm, flinching in surprise when he felt ridges under his fingers. He pulled up his sleeve, confused as his skin looked clean and smooth. He ran his fingers along its underside again, feeling the strange patterns of smooth and flaky-feeling ridges, like he had some sort of skin condition.

He blinked, running his hand over his arm yet again, becoming even more confused as the bumps had vanished. The pain remained, but his arm was as smooth as ever. Furrowing his brows, he figured that he must've imagined the strange sensation. He did almost pass out, after all.

After resting awhile he felt a little strength return to him. He stood up and washed out the horrible, acrid taste in his mouth, and then washed his face for good measure. He still felt ill, but somehow his skin wasn't clammy anymore. He looked in the mirror and was surprised to see he looked as good as ever, better actually. He looked perfectly healthy. How he felt, however, was the complete opposite. He was weak, cold, shivery, and wanted nothing more than to take a nice long nap by the fire in the common room. Unfortunately that wasn't to be, seeing as he had Care of Magical Creatures next. He hoped he wasn't late already. He also hoped Malfoy hadn't spread the story of him being sick and nearly fainting, again, across the school already. That would just be the icing on this horrible cake of a day.

With that thought he made his way to the Great Hall, where it seemed lunch had just ended. He looked around for Ron and Hermione and spotted them seated at the Gryffindor table.

When he came upon them he heard Ron say, "You just don't like being bad at something for a change!"

This comment obviously struck a nerve in Hermione, as she slammed her Arithmancy book on the table, sending bits of meat and carrot flying everywhere.

"If being good at Divination means I have to pretend to see death omens in a lump of tea leaves," she heatedly replied, "I'm not sure I'll be studying it much longer! That lesson was absolute rubbish compared with my Arithmancy class!"

She snatched up her bag and walked away, seeming not to notice Harry. Ron looked up after her and saw him, though, giving him a half-smile and a, "Hullo." Ron stood up as well and made his way over to Harry, frowning.

"What's she talking about?" he asked. "She hasn't been to an Arithmancy class yet."

Harry shrugged, not wanting to get involved in the argument. Together they made their way out of the castle to their first ever Care of Magical Creatures class.

Yesterday's rain has cleared, and the sky was covered by a veil of soft gray clouds. Sort of like Malfoy's eyes, Harry thought, and then was horrified at himself for thinking such a thing about his nemesis. He shoved Malfoy out of his mind forcefully, going back to admiring the scenery. The grass was springy and a bit damp underfoot and the turning leaves shimmered in a light wind. It was slightly warm outside, but not too warm. Harry felt his leftover nausea leave him as he breathed deeply of the fresh air.

Hermione caught up to them, greeting Harry stiffly. She ignored Ron. Harry walked between them awkwardly as they silently went down the sloping lawns to Hagrid's hut on the edge of the Forbidden Forest. It was only when he spotted three only-too-familiar backs ahead of them that he realized they must be having these lessons with the Slytherins. Surprisingly, Malfoy was standing silently, brooding. Harry would've guessed that news of his debacle in the bathroom would've been a choice bit of gossip to spread around. He hoped that, just this once, Malfoy might keep something to himself.

Hagrid was waiting for his class at the door of his hut. He stood in his moleskin overcoat, with Fang the boarhound at his heels, looking impatient to start.

"C'mon, now, get a move on!" he called as the class approached. "Got a real treat for yeh today! Great lesson comin' up! Everyone here? Right, follow me!"

For one nasty moment, Harry thought that Hagrid was going to lead them into the forest; Harry had had enough unpleasant experiences in there to last him a lifetime. However, Hagrid strolled off around the edge of the trees, and five minutes later, they found themselves outside a kind of paddock. There was nothing in it.

"Everyone gather 'round the fence here!" he called. "Tha's it - make sure yeh can see - now, firs' thing yeh'll want ter do is open yer books-"

"How?" asked the cold, drawling voice of Draco Malfoy.

"Eh?" said Hagrid.

"How do we open our books?" Malfoy repeated slowly, as if talking to someone mentally impaired. He took out his copy of _The Monster Book of Monsters_, which he had bound shut with a length of rope. Other people took theirs out too; some, like Harry had belted their book shut; others had crammed them inside tight bags or clamped them together with binder clips.

"Hasn'- hasn' anyone bin able ter open their books?" asked Hagrid, looking crestfallen.

The class all shook their heads.

"Yeh've got ter _stroke_ 'em," said Hagrid, as though this was the most obvious thing in the world. "Look-"

He took Hermione's copy and ripped off the Spellotape that bound it. The book tried to bite, but Hagrid ran a giant forefinger down its spine, and the book shivered, and then fell open and lay quiet in his hand.

"Oh, how silly we've all been!" Malfoy sneered. "We should have _stroked_ them! Why didn't we guess!"

"I- I thought they were funny," Hagrid said uncertainly to Hermione.

"Oh, tremendously funny!" said Malfoy. "Really witty, giving us books that try and rip our hands off!"

"Shut up, Malfoy," Harry said quietly. Hagrid was looking downcast and Harry wanted Hagrid's first lesson to be a success. Surprisingly, after a short glare at Harry, Malfoy shut up. He went back to brooding quietly, scowling into the trees.

"Righ' then," said Hagrid, who seemed to have lost his train of thought, "so- so yeh've got yer books an'- an'- now yeh need the Magical Creatures. Yeah. So I'll go an' get 'em. Hang on..."

He strode away from them into the forest and out of sight.

The class waited in silence for Hagrid to return, students freeing their books and stroking the spines. Hermione was already flipping through hers. Neville yelped as the book slammed shut on his hand before he was able to grab ahold of it and stroke the spine.

"Ooooooh!" Lavender Brown squealed suddenly, pointing toward the opposite side of the paddock.

Trotting toward them were a dozen of the most bizarre creatures Harry had ever seen. They had the bodies, hind legs, and tails of horses, but the front legs, wings and heads of what seemed to be giant eagles, with cruel, steel-colored beaks and large, brilliantly orange eyes. The talons on their front legs were half a foot long and deadly looking. Each of the beasts had a thick leather collar around its neck, which was attached to a long chain, and the ends of all of these were held in the vast hands of Hagrid, who came jogging into the paddock behind the creatures.

"Gee up, there!" he roared, shaking the chains and urging the creatures toward the fence where the class stood. Everyone drew back slightly as Hagrid reached them and tethered the creatures to the fence.

"Hippogriffs!" Hagrid roared happily, waving a hand at them. "Beau'iful, aren' they?"

Harry could sort of see what Hagrid meant. Once you got over the first shock of seeing something that was half horse, half bird, you started to appreciate the hippogriffs' gleaming coats, changing smoothly from feather to fur, each of them a different color: stormy gray, bronze, pinkish roan, gleaming chestnut, and inky black.

"So," said Hagrid, rubbing his hands together and beaming around, "if yeh wan' ter come a bit nearer..."

No one seemed to want to. Harry, Ron, and Hermione, however, approached the fence cautiously.

"Now, firs' thing yeh gotta know abou' hippogriffs is, they're proud," Hagrid stated. "Easily offended, hippogriffs are. Don't never insult one, 'cause it might be the last thing yeh do." Hagrid paused for a moment, rubbing his bearded chin. "Yeh always wait fer the hippogriff ter make the firs' move," he continued. "It's polite, see? Yeh walk toward him, and yeh bow, an' yeh wait. If he bows back, yeh're allowed ter touch him. If he doesn' bow, then get away from him sharpish, 'cause those talons hurt."

"Righ'- who wants ter go first?"

Most of the class backed farther away in answer. Even Harry, Ron, and Hermione had misgivings. The hippogriffs were tossing their fierce heads and flexing their powerful wings; they didn't seem to like being tethered like this.

"No one?" Hagrid asked sadly, with a pleading look.

"I'll do it," Harry said, knowing he would regret it later. He still felt awful, but if it meant Hagrid's first lesson went well he would do whatever he needed to.

There was an intake of breath from behind him, and both Lavender and Parvati whispered, "Oooh, no, Harry, remember your tea leaves!" Malfoy's head swiveled around sharply to stare at him. He couldn't pinpoint the emotion portrayed in his gray eyes, but whatever it was it couldn't be good.

He ignored them all, climbing over the paddock fence. It was harder than it should've been and he struggled to breathe normally once he reached the other side.

"Good man, Harry!" Hagrid roared, grinning. "Righ' then - let's see how yeh get on with Buckbeak."

He untied one of the chains, pulled the gray hippogriff away from its fellows, and slipped off its leather collar. The class on the other side of the paddock seemed to be holding its breath. Malfoy's eyes were narrowed, but he looked more frustrated than anything, as if he had found a puzzle and couldn't quite figure it out.

"Easy now, Harry," said Hagrid quietly. "Yeh've got eye contact, now try not ter blink... Hippogriffs don' trust yeh if yeh blink too much..."

Harry's eyes immediately began to water, but he didn't shut them. Buckbeak had turned his great, sharp head and was staring at Harry with one fierce orange eye.

"Tha's it," said Hagrid encouragingly. "Tha's it, Harry... now bow..."

Harry didn't feel much like exposing the back of his neck to Buckbeak, but he did as he was told. He gave a short bow and then looked up.

The hippogriff was still staring haughtily at him. It didn't move.

"Ah," said Hagrid, sounding worried. "Righ'- back away, now, Harry, easy does it-"

But them, to Harry's enormous surprise, the hippogriff suddenly bent its scaly front knees and sank into what was an unmistakable bow.

"Well done, Harry!" Hagrid yelled, ecstatic. "Righ' - yeh can touch him! Pat his beak, go on!"

Harry felt that a better reward would have been to back away, but he slowly moved toward the hippogriff and reached out toward it. He patted the beak several times and the hippogriff closed its eyes lazily, as though enjoying it. It then nuzzled his arm, pushing his hand back to its cheek. Harry stroked it and the the hippogriff, Buckbeak, that was its name, leant slightly into the touch. Its feathers were silky smooth and warm to the touch. Harry found himself smiling despite himself.

The class broke into applause, all except for Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle, who were looking deeply disappointed, though Malfoy still seemed a bit frustrated as well.

"Righ' then, Harry," said Hagrid. "I reckon he migh' let yeh ride him!"

Harry's eyes shot wide open in surprise. This was more than he had bargained for. He was used to a broomstick; but he wasn't sure a hippogriff would be quite the same. Besides, he was more than a little worried that he might throw up again if he started riding around on Buckbeak.

"Yeh climb up there, jus' behind the wing joint," said Hagrid, "an' mind yeh don' pull any of his feathers out, he won' like tha'..."

Taking a steadying breath, Harry put his foot on the top of Buckbeak's wing and hoisted himself onto the great beast's back. Buckbeak shook his head slightly, as if eager to get somewhere. Harry wasn't sure where to hold on; everything in front of him was covered in feathers.

"Go on, then!" Hagrid roared, slapping the hippogriff's hindquarters.

Without warning, twelve-foot wings flapped open on either side of Harry; he just had time to seize the hippogriff around the neck before he was soaring upward. It was nothing like a broomstick, and Harry knew which one he preferred; the hippogriff's wings beat uncomfortably on either side of him, catching him under his legs and making him feel he was about to be thrown off; the glossy feathers slipped under his fingers and he didn't dare get a stronger grip; instead of the smooth action of his Nimbus Two Thousand, he now felt himself rocking backward and forward as the hindquarters of the hippogriff rose and fell with its wings.

Buckbeak flew him once around the paddock and then headed back to the ground; this was the bit Harry had been dreading; he leaned back as the smooth neck lowered, feeling he was going to slip off over the head, then felt a heavy thud as the four ill-assorted feet hit the ground. He just barely managed to hold on, nearly lying on Buckbeak's back. He struggled to an upright position as the creature slowed to a stop, ruffling its wings as they bent to rest at its sides.

"Good work, Harry!" roared Hagrid as everyone except Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle cheered. "Okay, who else wants a go?"

Harry dismounted Buckbeak shakily. The hippogriff seemed to notice something was wrong with him as it cocked its head at him curiously, one great orange eye seeming to peer into his soul.

Emboldened by Harry's success, the rest of the class climbed cautiously into the paddock. Hagrid untied the hippogriffs one by one, and soon people were bowing nervously all over the paddock. Neville ran repeatedly backward from his, which didn't seem to want to bend its knees. Ron and Hermione practiced on the chestnut, while Harry stood back and watched, trying to suppress the tremors that ran though his body. He wished he had put on a sweater that morning.

Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle had taken over Buckbeak. He had bowed to Malfoy, who was now patting his beak, looking disdainful. Harry had a sudden thought; what if Malfoy was stupid enough to insult the hippogriff? He edged closer to the blonde, hoping he wasn't planning something to ruin Hagrid's lesson.

"This is very easy," Malfoy drawled, loudly. "I knew it must have been, if Potter could do it... I bet you're not dangerous at all, are you?" he said to the hippogriff. "Are you, you great ugly brute?"

Even before Malfoy had finished his sentence Harry found his body sprinting over between the hippogriff and the blonde, shoving Malfoy out of the way. His arms raised instinctively, sheltering his head as the hippogriff reared up, steely talons flashing as it struck out. A searing pain sprouted from his left arm as a talon dug into his flesh. He bit his lip to keep from crying out, tasting blood as he fell to the ground, cradling his arm to his body. Buckbeak seemed to have realized its mistake as its head appeared in Harry's vision, nudging his neck slightly. It then lifted its head to glare at Malfoy, who had gone white and was scrambling backwards, sprawled out on the ground.

Harry drew in breath in a hiss, pushing himself up off the ground. Why had he done that? Was it that thing that possessed him earlier? His brain was too fuzzy with pain to try to find an answer.

He glanced over at Malfoy, who had risen to his feet as well and was giving him the most incredulous look. He would've laughed if he wasn't hurting so much.

Hagrid rushed over, closely followed by the rest of the class. They crowded around, whispering animatedly. Lavender and Parvati in particular were shooting him knowing glances in between their whispers. Ron and Hermione looked at him worriedly. Everyone seemed to be talking at once; it was overwhelming him.

He closed his eyes, trying to shut all the voices out. He hugged his arms to his body as warm blood soaked through his clothes.

Suddenly he felt himself scooped into a very large pair of arms. His body stiffened and his eyes snapped open, looking into Hagrid's pale, worried face.

"M'fine," he mumbled, trying to console the giant man. He really did feel fine now; the pain had disappeared as quickly as it had come. It was just the voices that were bothering him.

"-gotta get yeh outta here..." Hagrid was saying.

"Hagrid, I'm fine, really," Harry said, slightly annoyed. "I can walk."

Hagrid didn't seem to be listening, though, as he ran towards the paddock gate, Hermione holding it open for him, and up the slope toward the castle.

Harry decided not to complain any more as he was suddenly feeling very weak. He didn't know if he would've been able to make the journey up to the Hospital Wing walking by himself.

Harry must've blacked out as the next time he opened his eyes he found himself lying on a bed, staring up at the familiar white ceiling of the Hospital Wing. He groaned, annoyed. He hated the Hospital Wing.

Suddenly he caught sight of his friends' faces, creased in worry.

"Hey, guys," he said, smiling. They smiled weakly back at him.

He used his right arm to push himself up. He looked down at his left arm, seeing it was wrapped up in a pristine white bandage. He stretched it out slightly, then more as he felt no pain.

Madame Pomfrey bustled over at that moment.

"Ah, Mr. Potter," she said, pursing her lips. "First day and already in trouble." She shook her head, giving an exasperated sigh.

"Your arm should be fine, now, Mr. Potter," she continued. "But no strenuous activities for a day at least."

She grabbed hold of his arm and began undoing the bandages. In place of the gash was now a small white scar, one of many on his arm. Funny, he hadn't remembered having that many scars before. Not to mention his wrist looked much thinner than it had just this morning. Madame Pomfrey pointed her wand at his arm, muttering an incantation. His arm must've been better because she nodded, pleased, before handing him his shirt and robe (they bore no signs of the incident they had just been through), which he donned gratefully. He hadn't been out long if she didn't have time to change him into one of those irritating hospital gowns.

"You're free to go," she concluded, face softening slightly in fondness, "but do try not to get hurt again, won't you, dear?"

"Of course, Madame Pomfrey," he replied contritely. It was always better to play along with the nurse or she might decide to keep him stuck in the Hospital Wing.

Madame Pomfrey nodded, hurrying away. Hermione chose that moment to pounce on him.

"Oh, I'm so glad you're alright, Harry," she said tearfully, throwing her arms around his neck. Harry tensed slightly as his back twinged, though this was fortunately unnoticed by his bushy-haired friend. "I was so worried."

"Yeah, mate," Ron said. "Why'd you save _Malfoy_ anyway?"

Harry shrugged. "I dunno, it all just happened before I knew what was going on."

Ron shook his head sadly. "I know you have a thing for saving people, Harry, but that git could've used some pain."

"Ron!" Hermione chided, elbowing him sharply.

He frowned at her. "Well he does," he replied defensively.

Harry could see Hermione's face darken so he glanced at the clock in the Hospital Wing. It was time for dinner. He blurted, "Let's go to dinner."

They both agreed and Harry happily left the bed and the Hospital Wing behind. He still felt terrible, but at least his arm was intact.

"I really hope they don't fire Hagrid," Hermione said worriedly.

Harry frowned. "They wouldn't! I've been hurt worse during Quidditch. And besides, it was Malfoy's fault anyway."

"I hope you're right, Harry," Hermione replied, obviously not convinced. Ron still seemed to be mad, and walked in moody silence.

They were among the first to reach the Great Hall. They were hoping to see Hagrid there, but he was absent.

"Well, you can't say it wasn't an interesting first day back," Ron said gloomily as they took seats at the Griffindor table.

Harry was watching the Slytherin table. A large group, including Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle was huddled together, deep in conversation. Malfoy kept glancing at him. Harry was sure they were cooking up their own version of what had happened.

Harry stared at the bountiful food at the table, feeling repulsed by even the thought of eating. Even Ron wasn't eating. He sighed, resting his face in his hands and ignoring the feeling of being watched.

They went up to the crowded Gryffindor common room after dinner and tried to do the homework Professor McGonagall had give them, but all three of them kept breaking off and glancing out of the tower window.

"There's a light on in Hagrid's window," Harry said suddenly.

Ron looked at his watch.

"If we hurried, we could go down and see him. It's still quite early..."

"I don't know," Hermione said slowly, and Harry saw her glance at him.

"I'm allowed to walk across the _grounds_," he said pointedly. "My arm's fine, and Sirius Black hasn't got past the dementors yet, has he?"

So they put their things away and headed out of the portrait hole, glad to meet nobody on their way to the front doors, as they weren't entirely sure they were supposed to be out.

The grass was still wet and looked almost black in the twilight. When they reached Hagrid's hut, they knocked, and a voice growled, "C'min."

Hagrid was sitting in his shirtsleeves at his scrubbed wooden table; his boarhound, Fang, had his head in Hagrid's lap. One look told them that Hagrid had been drinking; there was a pewter tankard almost as big as a bucket in front of him, and he was slumped over the table, bloodshot eyes hazily looking up at them.

"'Spect it's a record," he said thickly. "Don' reckon they've ever had a teacher who lasted on'y a day before."

"But you haven't been fired, Hagrid!" gasped Hermione.

"Not yet," said Hagrid miserably. "But it's only a matter o' time, i'n't it? After 'Arry..."

"I'm fine Hagrid, it was just a scratch," Harry said consolingly as he sat down.

"Yeh di'n't look fine to me, Harry... Blood e'rywhere..." Hagrid continued guiltily. "School gov'nors have bin told, o' course. They reckon I started too big. Shoulda left hippogriffs fer later... done flobberworms or summat... Jus' thought it'd make a good firs' lesson... 'S all my fault..."

"It's all _Malfoy's_ fault, Hagrid!" said Hermione earnestly.

"Yeah, Hagrid," Harry added, "you said hippogriffs attack if you insult them. It's Malfoy's problem that he wasn't listening. We'll tell Dumbledore what really happened."

"Yeah, don't worry, Hagrid, we'll back you up," said Ron.

Tears leaked out of the crinkled corners of Hagrid's beetle-black eyes. He grabbed both Harry and Ron and pulled them into a bone-breaking hug. Harry clenched his teeth until his jaw hurt, body rigid in an effort to keep from calling out in pain.

"I'm glad yeh're alrigh', Harry... was so worried..." Hagrid sniffled.

"I think you've had enough to drink, Hagrid," Hermione said firmly. She took the tankard from the table and went outside to empty it.

"Ar, maybe she's right," said Hagrid, letting go of Harry and Ron, who both staggered away, nursing their ribs. Hagrid heaved himself out of his chair and followed Hermione unsteadily outside. They heard a loud splash.

"What's he done?" Harry asked nervously as Hermione came back in with the empty tankard.

"Stuck his head in the water barrel," said Hermione, putting the tankard away.

Hagrid came back, his long hair and beard sopping wet, wiping the water out of his eyes.

"Tha's better," he said, shaking his head like a dog and drenching them all. "Listen, it was good of yeh ter come an' see me, I really-"

Hagrid stopped dead, staring at Harry as though he's only just realized he was there.

"WHA D'YEH THINK YOU'RE DOIN', EH?" he roared, so suddenly that they jumped a foot in the air. "YEH'RE NOT TO GO WANDERIN' AROUND AFTER DARK, HARRY! AN' YOU TWO! LETTIN' HIM!"

Hagrid strode over to Harry, grabbed his shoulder, and steered him to the door.

"C'mon!" Hagrid said angrily. "I'm takin' yer all back up ter school, an' don' let me catch yeh walkin' down ter see me after dark again. I'm not worth that!"

* * *

~A/N Next time on The Many Faces: A storm's brewing, in more ways than one. A/N~


	9. Chapter 9: Two's Company

~A/N This chapter shall be all the things I want it to be, as I didn't pull anything from the book whatsoever (except the HP universe). That's a first, I know. I hope you enjoy Harry's new friend.

Harry Potter does not in any way belong to me, nor am I profiting from it! A/N~

* * *

_Last time: "C'mon!" Hagrid said angrily. "I'm takin' yer all back up ter school, an' don' let me catch yeh walkin' down ter see me after dark again. I'm not worth that!"_

Harry awoke drenched in a cold sweat the next morning, panting as if he had just run a marathon. He assumed he must've had a nightmare, but for the life of him he couldn't remember what it was about. He pulled back the curtains and looked at his clock, seeing it was just after five in the morning. He flopped back down on the bed, unwilling to get up yet. He still felt as awful as yesterday. However, after ten minutes of unsuccessfully trying to relax, he got up, showered, and dressed. By the time he was done getting ready it was still only a quarter to six. None of the other boys would be up for another half-hour.

Harry looked outside at the cloud-speckled, gray, pre-dawn sky and decided to go for a morning walk. He pulled on an extra sweater, an old hand-me-down of Dudley's, under his robe as he was still feeling cold. With that he quietly snuck down the stairs and out of the portrait hole.

By the time he got to the entrance hall he was breathing heavily, heart pounding. He took a rest on the steps outside before making his way down to the lake. He enjoyed the cool, fresh morning air brushing his face as he walked, smelling of rain and earth. As he was nearing a small stand of trees, a stone bench resting beneath their boughs, he saw a snake slowly slithering through the dewy grass. It caught sight of him and started moving faster, obviously not wanting to encounter a potential threat at such an early hour.

"Hello," Harry said to it, on a whim.

He must've said it in parseltongue as the snake paused in its flight, turning to look at him.

"You are a speaker?" it asked softly.

"Er, yeah?" Harry replied tentatively, moving to take a seat on the bench.

The snake slowly moved closer and Harry saw that it was a common grass snake. It was larger than most he had seen (not that he had seen many), probably around four feet long. Its body was a light tan color with alternating black spots on the sides of a long yellow stripe down its back. A yellow band formed a collar behind its head. At the moment it was looking at him curiously with a small, golden, round-pupiled eye, flicking its tongue at him. Harry thought it was rather pretty, for a snake.

"Err...I'm Harry, what's your name?" Harry asked, not really knowing how to start a conversation with a snake.

The snake coiled up at his feet and replied, "I do not speak the language of your kind, speaker."

Apparently Harry hadn't spoken in parseltongue. He concentrated hard on the snake, willing himself to speak in its language.

"My..." he began, a light hiss coming from his mouth, but stopped as he couldn't find a way to say the word 'name'. Did snakes not have names?

"I'm-" he began again, but was cut off as the snake spoke again.

"I do not speak your tongue," it repeated.

After several tries to find a replacement word for 'name' he gave up, simply pointing to himself and saying, "Harry. I'm Harry."

The snake seemed to perk up in understanding and it asked, "You are... Hasse?" It struggled with the foreign pronunciation.

Harry nodded, smiling. "Yeah. What are you called?"

"Snake," it replied, matter-of-fact.

"No, I meant you...individually. Like my kind are called humans, but I'm Harry," he explained.

"I am a snake of the grass and water. I do not know any other call-by," it replied, studying him curiously.

Harry furrowed his brows. "I should give you a new...call-by, then."

"Why?" the snake asked.

"Well, every human has one. It sets them apart from other people and lets others tell them apart easier," he replied easily. He then felt awkward. Here he was talking to this snake he had never met before, and he was offering to give it a name! "Do you want one?" he finished, embarrassed.

The snake's head swayed slowly back and forth as it thought. "Yes," it said happily. "I want this new call-by."

"Hrm," Harry said, scratching his cheek. He was never very good at names, and he didn't even know if this snake was a boy or a girl! Well, he supposed, he might as well start there.

"Er, are you a boy or a girl?" he mumbled awkwardly.

"I am female," the snake replied, unfazed.

Harry thought for a minute, but all the names he came up with were stupid. The worst of all of them was snakey. He hit himself mentally. How much stupider could a name get? And besides, he didn't even know what names would translate over to parseltongue.

"Could I have a bit to think on that?" he asked, rubbing his neck awkwardly. He noticed the snake shied back a bit as he lifted his hand.

"Yes," the snake replied, letting her head rest on her coils.

"Well, what are you doing out here? Er- before I started talking to you," Harry mumbled, not entirely comfortable with talking to a snake yet.

"I was going to sun myself," the snake said tiredly. "It is nearing time to hibernate and the cold takes hold of me."

"Oh," Harry said. He hadn't thought of that. "Er, would you like me to hold you or something? I could warm you up a bit."

The snake tensed slightly, asking warily, "Can I trust you, speaker?"

"Yeah," Harry replied lightly. "I won't hurt you." He gave the creature a slight, encouraging smile.

The snake uncurled herself tentatively, stretching her nose towards Harry's leg. Harry slowly crouched down, putting out a hand for the snake to climb onto. He suddenly felt a strange buzzing in his mind, not unlike that of bees, but he shook himself slightly and it disappeared. The snake gingerly edged her long body onto his hand, pausing often to check for danger. Harry felt her cool, smooth scales brush against his palm as she moved. He gently lifted her up, sitting back onto the bench, hand resting in his lap. The snake poked her head, tongue flickering lightly, into his sleeve, trepidation gone, searching out the heat trapped within. He didn't blame her; his hands _were_ rather cold.

Suddenly the snake drew back sharply, saying, alarmed, "You are injured, speaker."

"What?" Harry asked, confused. Of course he wasn't injured. Madame Pomfrey had healed his arm up yesterday, and besides, that was his other arm.

"Your arm," the snake explained. "It smells of blood. I thought it a scent you carried on you, but your arm is strong with the smell of hurt." She looked up at him, flicking her tongue out again. "You smell of hurt everywhere."

"That can't be right. I haven't been hurt on that arm, or anywhere else," Harry said quickly, frowning.

The snake stuck her head back into his sleeve and he felt a sudden pain, as if someone had pressed on a bruise.

"Oww!" he said, flinching. He pulled back his sleeve, not wanting to hurt the snake by grabbing it. "What was that for?" he asked angrily.

The snake looked at him, then bumped her head firmly against his arm. The pain flared up again.

"Oww." he said again, softer this time. He gently pressed on the spot himself. It hurt, just like it had when showering the past two days. That didn't explain _how_ it was injured though. His clean, smooth, lightly tanned skin mocked him.

The snake looked at him expectantly.

He shrugged his shoulders lightly. "It just hurts," he said.

"Your injuries are hidden, but they are there," the snake said firmly.

"Yeah, well, even if I am hurt, it'll heal eventually," Harry replied with a twinge of annoyance.

The snake looked back down. She flicked her tongue over his forearm once more before inching up his arm.

"What're you doing?" Harry asked.

"There is more warmth at your neck," the snake replied, sounding a bit sleepy.

"Er, just don't bite me, okay?" Harry asked. He knew grass snakes weren't poisonous and weren't dangerous to humans, but that didn't mean he was comfortable with the idea of one hanging around his neck.

"I would not bite you, speaker," the snake replied. "You are much more powerful than me, and even if you hurt me I am bound to obey you."

"You are?" Harry asked curiously. Snakes had to obey him?

"Yes," the snake replied, "all snakes respect the ones with the gift of our speech. They are to be our masters. This every snake with the power knows, and those without will obey simply because they have no reason not to."

"The power?" asked Harry, tilting his head slightly.

"All things have some of it here, speaker. You have much of it, as does the power-stick you carry," she replied, curling around his neck contently, part of her body looping down his back. Harry realized she was talking about magic. She yawned and then let out a small hiss, almost like a sigh. He could feel her cool body expand and contract as she breathed against his skin.

The sun was beginning to light up the horizon now, readying the world for its first golden rays. The mottled clouds shone pink and orange over the dark treetops, blossoming into a deep purple as the sky drew away from the horizon. Harry watched as the changing clouds and light painted a moving masterpiece across the sky.

"The sky is beautiful, you know," he said absently.

The snake lifted her head up, turning towards the direction he was looking. "The light will come soon," she said in agreement, readjusting herself around his neck. She seemed to be perking up a bit now that she was warmer. "It is difficult to see so far, though."

"Oh really?" Harry asked.

"Yes. I use scent to find my prey, not sight, speaker. Your kind has better sight, but can not smell as I can," she said somewhat proudly.

"Just call me Harry. All this 'speaker' stuff is kinda weird," Harry requested. It was strange enough to be talking with a snake; he didn't need all these titles. He had enough with being called the Heir of Slytherin all last year. He shuddered to think what his classmates would do if they found him talking to a snake, again.

"As you wish, Hasse," she said, nodding her head. "Have you chosen a new call-by for me yet?"

"Do you think you could give me some more time on that? I want to make sure it's right for you," he stalled.

"Of course!" she replied enthusiastically. She really seemed to be perking up now. "What were you doing out this early? Most of your kind come out of the stone cave once the sun is at its peak."

Harry chuckled at the use of 'stone cave' to describe Hogwarts. "It's not a stone cave, it's a..." he paused, not able to find a word for 'castle'. "It's a place made by humans to live in," he concluded. "It's called Hogwarts."

"Pig warts?" the snake asked in disbelief.

Harry chuckled again, grinning. "Yeah, it's a pretty silly name, isn't it?" He had never really thought of the absurdity of naming a castle 'Hogwarts' before.

"What is that sound you make, Hasse?" she asked, pressing closer to his throat. A bit uncomfortably close.

"Er... what sound?" Harry asked, distracted by the feel of her long body contracting slightly around the sides of his neck. It made him nervous for some reason. He guessed that after the basilisk, any snake was enough to make him nervous. This one seemed very nice, though.

The snake breathed out in short puffs. "A sound like that," she said.

"Oh, you mean laughing?" he asked, smiling. Leave it to a snake not to understand laughter. He let out a short laugh.

"Yes, this laughing is a nice sound. It sounds of happiness. We snakes have a sound of happiness too, but it is not as nice."

"What sound is that?" Harry asked. He was genuinely curious as to what a snake's equivalent of a laugh would be.

Her body tensed as she took in a deep breath before expelling it out in a high, fluctuating whistle. It sounded almost like birdsong, but with a hissing quality to it.

Harry snorted with laughter, it was so absurd. A snake, whistling! Who would've guessed? The snake enthusiastically whistled again in reply. Harry joined in, whistling a nonsensical tune in between bursts of laughter. They sat happily whistling together as the sun cast its first rays across the horizon, like a huge golden flashlight. He mused that this must be one of the strangest things he'd ever done.

The sun usually rose at around seven this time of year, which meant that Harry's friends would soon be wondering where he was. Well, let them wonder, Harry thought. He was enjoying the time spent with his new snake friend. Hermione would just bug him to eat more at breakfast, anyway. He'd catch up with them before classes started.

A slight breeze set the leaves on the nearby trees whispering and danced across his cheek like a soft caress. Harry briefly wondered if trees could talk as well, and if so, what they would say. He would have to look it up in the library sometime. Gosh, he was starting to sound like Hermione! But still, he was rather curious...

A bird flitted by, twittering a morning song. More joined in, creating a discordant chorus.

"I know," Harry said suddenly, straightening up as the idea came to him. "I'll call you Bird. Y'know...since you can sing like one."

"But I am not a bird," the snake said, confused.

"I know that, but usually...call-by's are given to represent things that someone reminds you of, or something like that," Harry said. He had heard that every name had some special meaning, but that a lot of them had been lost in translation. He wondered what his name meant.

"I see," the snake said, seeming to be deep in thought. "It would be nice to be a bird. They are always warm, and can fly so fast. They're able to get away when they're being hunted. They can make beautiful sounds, too. But snakes can hunt better, and are smarter, more patient." She seemed to be trying to convince herself that snakes were better than birds.

"Flying is pretty great," Harry commented.

"You have flown, Hasse?" she asked.

"Yeah, on a broomstick. It's amazing. I did ride a hippogriff yesterday, though. That wasn't quite as fun..." He thought back to the unnerving ride on Buckbeak.

"You must take me on this flying stick sometime. I have seen your kind on them, but I did not know they were fun," the snake said happily.

"Yeah, and, er... this game we play on them is even better. I play seeker," Harry said proudly.

"A game in the air? That sounds dangerous, not fun," she said doubtfully.

"Well, it is dangerous, but it's even more fun because of that!" Harry said enthusiastically.

"You humans have strange ideas of fun," the snake said with a frown.

Harry laughed. "Yeah, I guess we do," he agreed, leaning back on his hands.

The snake stretched out, suspending a great portion of her body into the air. She whistled.

"Yes, I will be Bird," she said happily.

"I'm glad you like it," Harry said, smiling at her antics.

"I am glad of this new call-by, Hasse. It makes me feel differently about myself, somehow," Bird said slowly.

"Yeah, it makes you special."

The snake nodded.

Harry looked off toward the lake, swinging his legs. He was getting tired of sitting on the uncomfortable stone bench.

Bird coiled tighter around his neck, set off balance by his swaying.

"Do you wish to leave?" she asked curiously.

"Nah- well, I'm just a bit restless is all," Harry answered, stilling his legs.

"We should go then. I would like to see how it looks to be as tall as you," Bird said excitedly.

"Do you want to stay around my neck?" Harry asked tentatively. He wasn't sure that _he_ wanted her around his neck... He was still feeling bit tense, which certainly wouldn't disappear if she was jostling around while he walked.

Bird looked around, finding the primary vantage point on his body.

"I think your hand would be better. There is little to hold on to up here," she stated, already starting to slink down his left arm.

He straightened his arm, allowing her easier access to his hand. As her searching head met his fingers she nudged between two of them. She carefully wound around his wrist, threading through his fingers like a silk ribbon. Harry smiled at her, realizing that the sensation of her movement on his skin wasn't so bad after all. Actually, it was pleasant. His lips pulled up in a half-smile as her tongue tickled his fingertips. Once she had secured herself entirely he drew his arm in closer to his body, instinctively, in a protective stance.

He slowly rose from the bench, keeping an eye on Bird as she shifted slightly to compensate. He then set off at a slow pace towards the edge of the lake. The black waters shimmered with a thousand golden jewels, courtesy of the morning sun. Bird seemed to enjoy the view as she kept twisting her head around to look at things.

He glanced back at the castle, eyes lingering on the owlery at the top of West Tower. He wondered how Hedwig was doing. He vowed to go check on her as soon as he was done talking with Bird.

"Bird..." he began, staring off at the hazy far side of the lake.

"Yes?" she asked curiously.

"Will we see each other again, after today?"

Bird smiled at him. "Of course. You have to take me on your flying stick, remember?" she said cheekily.

Harry smiled too. "Yeah, I guess you're right," he said.

They walked in silence for awhile - or rather, Harry walked and Bird rode on him - enjoying the scenery. The pain in his ankle was a bit distracting, but he did his best to ignore it. After a few more minutes continuing around the rocky edge of the lake, though, he found that the pain was increasing rather than decreasing. Without Ron and Hermione's constant chatter it was much harder to ignore. He stopped walking, causing Bird to stare up at him curiously.

"Er, I think I'm gonna turn around," he said. "Is that alright with you?"

She nodded. "This height is very different," she commented as he turned around. "It must be hard to stay on two legs and not fall down from dizziness!"

"Well, I think you just get used to it after awhile, and then you don't even notice that it's high anymore," Harry conjectured.

She nodded slowly, thinking. "That is true."

Harry found himself slowing down as he continued walking, the effort of hiding his limp growing. Eventually he stopped again, mentally cursing his phantom pains.

Bird narrowed her eyes at him reproachfully, saying, "You should not walk when you are injured. You will hurt yourself more."

Harry ran his free hand through his hair agitatedly, making it even messier than before.

"But I'm _not_ hurt!" he exclaimed. "It just _hurts_ for _no reason_!"

Bird continued to look at him reproachfully, but said nothing.

Harry sighed, scrubbing his face. "Sorry, it's just annoying," he said softly.

Bird rested her head against his finger in a comforting way, giving him an understanding look and squeezing his hand slightly.

Harry sighed again and glanced up towards the sun, shielding his eyes with one hand. It was probably eight now. He just had enough time to visit Hedwig, then get his things from the dormitory and make it to the charms classroom before class started.

"I should get going," he said regretfully.

Bird nodded. "I must go, as well. There are prey to be hunted."

Harry furrowed his brows. He hadn't thought of how difficult it must be for wild animals to find food. He didn't think Bird would appreciate any of his table-scraps though. Hedwig usually turned up her beak at them, and she ate much the same things as snakes did.

"Uh, I hope you find something to eat," he said, not really knowing how to respond.

Bird thanked him and they bid each other goodbye. She was slithering off into the grass when Harry suddenly said, "Wait!"

"Yes?" Bird asked, turning around.

"Um, do you want to meet back here tomorrow? At the same time?" he asked hopefully. He really had liked talking to her.

She gave him a bright smile. "I would like that," she said happily, turning again and disappearing into the brush.

Harry looked at the place where she had been for a moment, feeling a sense of loss within him. He then shook himself out of the melancholy, telling himself that there was no reason for it as he would see her again tomorrow. He turned around and made his slow way up to the owlery.

Once he finally arrived at the top of the tower he looked out, taking one more glance at the beautiful, pristine, and mountainous scenery surrounding the castle. It was enough to take one's breath away, and he got to see it every day for the majority of the year. With a smile on his face he opened the door to the owlery, greeted by the soft hooting of countless owls and the papery rustling of wings. The owls sat in small enclaves built into the sides of the circular room, the top having been left open with two beams supporting the roof. It was dark inside, but not so dark that he couldn't see.

Suddenly he heard a familiar hoot and a white owl swooped down towards him. He put his arm out and Hedwig landed on it. He stroked her soft feathers gently and she nibbled his finger affectionately, giving him a chastising look.

"I know girl, I know," Harry apologized. "I'll visit you a lot more, I promise. And next time I'll bring you some owl treats."

He smiled as she perked up at the mention of treats, continuing to stroke her. He told her all about his new friend, Bird, and asked her opinion. Hedwig stared at him with her big amber eyes before giving a small hoot and bobbing her head. Harry took it as approval and smiled at her.

"Thanks, girl," he said. "I'm sure you'll like Bird."

Hedwig hooted a bit more doubtfully at that statement.

He spent a few more minutes with Hedwig before he sent her off to be with her owl friends. He hurried to the common room, rushing into the empty dormitory and collecting his things for the day's classes before making his way to the Charms classroom. He got there with a few moments to spare and Ron and Hermione immediately started pressing him on where he'd been. Fortunately Professor Flitwick called the class in before he had to come up with an excuse, buying him some more time.

Throughout the class his friends continually pestered him. Even Hermione wasn't as interested in the lesson (Drying Charms) as usual, so preoccupied with reprimanding Harry and telling him not to skip meals. Neither of them would accept that he had simply gone for a walk, which annoyed him. They didn't have the right to monitor him like this. He could take care of himself perfectly well, thank you very much. And so he stared in stony silence until they dropped the subject... for a few hours. Then Hermione just had to bring it back up again. And so it continued all day, and the next days as well.

Fortunately, it seemed that they had come into an indian summer, as the weather was unseasonably warm and sunny. Bird was very active and energetic, and Harry found that she had quite the sense of humor. She gave him an affectionate "call-by": Birdnest. She explained it slyly with two reasons; the first being that he had given her the name Bird and it was only fitting that her chauffeur be a nest for her, and secondly for his wild hair, which even resembled a nest to a snake. He accepted it with a grin and a laugh, for it was absolutely true. They grew closer together than he would've thought was possible in the next few days, and Harry's friends constantly berated him for disappearing in the morning, skipping breakfast, and generally acting strange. He didn't mind too much though, if it meant he could be with Bird. He skipped lunch a couple times too, to see if he could find her waiting at the stone bench that they were quickly claiming as their own. All in all, Harry found that he was quickly forgetting how he had lived without her for so long. Ron and Hermione were wonderful friends, but Bird seemed to know him better than he even knew himself, probably because he couldn't seem to hide anything from her.

He was spending far too much time in the library for Ron's liking, reading all the books he could on snakes and how to care for them. Unfortunately the library was sparse in that regard, most being identification handbooks or how to butcher snakes for use in potions. Harry skipped the later subject, shuddering in revulsion. He did, however, find that trees did indeed have a language of their own, but that no one had yet deciphered it. He vowed to be kinder to trees in the future. Eventually he sent a letter to the Magical Menagerie in Diagon, asking them for advice. Their response was more than he could've hoped for, and Harry planned to ask Bird to stay with him permanently as soon as they sent him some supplies by owl order. That meant that he would have to break the news to Ron and Hermione, though, and he wasn't looking forward to that. He didn't normally keep things from his friends, but this was different... he wasn't sure how they would respond. Hermione would probably go and tell Professor McGonagall and then he wouldn't be able to keep Bird, since only one pet was allowed per person and he already had Hedwig. Bird was so much more than a pet, though. He couldn't bear to lose her after so little time together.

This pleasant haze of newfound friendship would continue until Thursday, when he would step into the Potions classroom for the first time that year, and for a double period, at that.

* * *

~A/N Yes, Harry will have a pet snake if I want him to. If you can't deal with that then too bad! Haha. But dialogue is boring, I know. I'm sorry. I felt that as the story will be getting more intense from here on, Harry deserved a tender break. ;) If you're confused about how snakes can have human expressions, I figure that's a part of parseltongue, as Harry saw a snake wink in the first book. (Snakes don't have eyelids.)

Please be sure to read the warnings next chapter as some sensitive, graphic material will be present. (This fic is rated T for a reason)

Any comments, critiques, questions, suggestions, or criticisms are welcome!

Next time on The Many Faces: Potions class, and a boggart too. A/N~


	10. Chapter 10: Blood and Dungeon Bats

~A/N Time for a mystery perspective.

Warning: This chapter contains graphic descriptions of self-injurious behavior, injuries, and blood. If this topic is disturbing or triggering for you, please skip past the first line break. Please note that I neither support nor condone any of actions portrayed henceforth. However, it is a prevalent issue in today's society. If you or someone you know is harming themselves or others, please seek immediate help. This topic is not for younger audiences.

I don't own Harry Potter. A/N~

* * *

He sat in the midst of a sea of bedsheets, listening to the snores of his dorm-mates. His fists clenched and unclenched as he struggled to contain the writhing emotions within him: anger, hate, fear, anxiety, sadness, depression, loneliness, and so many others he couldn't even name. The insanity, a thousand voices all screaming in unison within the grip of an empty void. His eyes burned as they refused tears, lungs clenched by a thousand unspent sobs. So much pain. It was overwhelming him, consuming him. He would rather rip out his own bleeding heart than bear it! But then, it wasn't just his heart. His thoughts drifted to his trunk... This was crazy! Only crazy people did this. But he wasn't crazy. _He_ wasn't crazy. It was wrong...but it was so right. It was the only solution, the only peace. He fought back the invading feelings as much as he could, silently crawling out of bed and unlatching his trunk. He lifted the lid and rummaged inside. No...no... Yes. He pulled out his knife, glimmering in the moonlight. He turned it slightly, admiring the sleek silver light that played off its edge. It was his friend; it helped him. It would never hurt him, abandon him. It was beautiful, cold, and serene. As he would be. He quickly dropped it out of the light, lest someone wake up and see him holding it. They wouldn't understand. He _needed_ this. _He_ needed this.

He stealthily made his way back to bed, clutching his prize and drawing the curtains closed around him, enough to block any view from his classmates while still letting in a sliver of moonlight. A wave of terrible emotion wracked his body and he froze for a moment, nails digging into his palms, teeth clenched, breaths pained and shallow. It would all be over soon, he promised himself. Just a few moments more. He rolled up the sleeve of one of an old, baggy hand-me-down, now recycled as a nightshirt. He thrust his naked arm into the pool of light, shivering as it revealed the lines crossing his skin. The works of art he created to hide his shame, to free himself from his burdens, from himself. His body was his canvas and his knife was his paintbrush, sweeping to create small, neat strokes mixed with deep, jagged, slanted carvings. They ranged from fresh scabs to thin pink scars to purple, bulging keloids. A beautiful pastel rainbow against the ivory of his skin. Each line remaking him anew, cleansing him. The darkest, thickest scars, a sickly shade of plum, were also the oldest, laying under the other marks. They stretched their ribbed lines across his skin like parasitic worms, marring the beauty of his canvas. They spelled out letters: K. His fist clenched again, reflexively, as he read the word permanently branded into his forearm.

He raised the knife, hesitating a moment as it hovered over his skin, glinting greedily, begging to release him, to caress him. He sucked in deep, shaky breath and drew it jerkily down upon his arm, his skin splitting apart easily in its wake. For a moment he tensed as the fresh pain hit him, but then he relaxed, sighing, released at last. He shivered as the tormenting emotions, the pain in his heart, the guilt and the weakness, flowed away down the bright red stream trailing from his arm, as the blissful numbness filled him. It was perfection, a deep flood of ecstasy. But it wasn't enough, not yet. He slid the sleek metal down his arm again, deeper this time, cleaner. It emptied him, purified him. And again, and again, until all that was left was a pleasant cloud filling his mind, hiding away the feelings, the memories, that haunted him. Until he was light and free, like the thestrals that danced over the forest at night on their black wings.

No longer did the word "freak" mar his arm, no, now it was awash in a beautiful red sea. He smiled bitterly, peacefully, pleased with his handiwork. Pleased that, at least for now, he had retaken control. He had subdued his tormentors and healed his mind. He stroked a finger elegantly down his arm, relishing in the twinges of pain that echoed from the new wounds as he disturbed them. He breathed deeply the coppery tang in the air, an iron cage no longer constricting his lungs. He lifted his bloody finger to his mouth, tasting the essence flowing from his veins. It was salty, metallic, and sweet: delicious proof that he had won. He was happy. He stroked the thin blade of the beautiful knife, pleased with its work, and it pleased with him. They were happy, together.

So very calm now, he picked up the wand from where it lay on the bed, careful not to dirty it, and cast silent cleansing spells at his red-stained sheets, nightwear, and knife. He gave his perfect, beautiful arm a mournful glance before he cleansed it as well. He let the dark blood flow a moment more, entranced by its graceful, feminine shimmers as it danced down his arm in rivulets, before cleansing it again and performing a whispered spell to stop the bleeding. It was advanced magic, taking him a second try before it stuck, but he was used to doing whatever needed to be done, no matter the difficulty or cost. And unfortunately, he couldn't risk bandages. He stared down at his arm a moment more before looking away disdainfully, the word FREAK now visible beneath his new vibrant red and angry additions to his family. A flare of anger and fear touched him but he pushed it away easily. Soon those letters would disappear. Soon he would be healed. He reapplied the glamour charm he constantly wore, able to mask both sight and touch, and ran his fingers over his now deceptively clean, smooth white skin, his lip quirking as small shocks of pain sounded. Had it really only been a month? It felt like a lifetime... and perhaps it had been. He pulled his sleeve back down and snuck to the trunk, replacing his dear friend within its confines, already looking forward to their next meeting. He returned to bed calm and confident, knowing that the world was once again right.

* * *

Severus Snape flung open the door to the Potions classroom dramatically, the resounding bang causing several students to flinch, most noticeably Longbottom, who nearly fell out of his chair, the idiot. Even a worm had more of a backbone. He sat down at his desk, pulling some first-year essays towards him and starting to grade them. Soon his spidery handwriting covered the pages in blood-red ink, the harsh criticisms soon to draw metaphorical blood from a few budding Ravenclaws, so sure of their woefully inept intellect.

Slowly the remaining few students trickled in, barely on time. Potter and his two pets were some of the last. Potter hung back a bit, looking sulky. Typical. He heard the Weasley boy gushing something about a new wand as he walked in, and continued to do so even after he had sat down, waving the thing around dangerously.

"Did I ask you to retrieve your wand for this class, Mr. Weasley?" he asked darkly, glancing up from his papers with a sharp glare.

The red-head gulped, saying, in a mix of fear and loathing, "No. -Sir."

"Then put it away and stop jabbering on like the dimwitted fool that you are," he sneered, quill returning to scratching.

Weasley turned pink, struggling to restrain his temper. Unfortunately for the boy, he had said nothing that was untrue. The boy did manage to obey the command, however, to his credit. Honestly these Gryffindor brats were worse than dogs; at least hounds were able to obey orders without all this superfluous whining and griping.

Potter was as insolent as ever, shooting him a glare when he thought he wasn't looking. His eyes momentarily connected with the boy's and he froze, barely restraining the flicker of shock that threatened to dash across his visage. Lily's hateful emerald eyes were staring back at him, unobscured. Why wasn't the blasted boy wearing his glasses?

He swiftly dropped Potter's gaze, unable to stand his sudden resemblance to Lily. The damnable brat, he was nothing like Lily. Before the glasses only emphasized the boy's resemblance to Potter, but now he could see that the whelp had her nose and cheeks as well. His jaw clenched as his lip curled in disgust. All the more reason to show the boy he wasn't fooled like those other idiots who called themselves teachers. He would put the boy in his place, mark his words.

"Five points from Gryffindor, Potter," he snapped, keeping his eyes trained on the papers before him, "for disrespect to a teacher."

Potter's blasted spawn had the sense to keep his tongue in check, after a sharp jab from the bushy-haired show-off. Pity. He would've liked to show exactly how little he would tolerate from the dunderhead this year.

The boy turned his head sharply towards the know-it-all and Severus saw a small disturbance in the air, a magical ripple. He looked closer, squinting slightly, curious as to why the boy would be under a charm, for he had seen many such glamours before. This one seemed to be particularly well done for a student of his age and disguising his entire body, or at least the part showing above the table. He looked away scoffing, knowing that the Granger girl had obviously done it for him. The brat probably had some sort of blemishes that resisted magical remedies; many of the students had them. However, he had the audacity to try to cover it up, as if such a thing would ruin his princely perfection. He sneered at the Gryffindors, setting Longbottom quivering.

He saw round-faced boy's toad poking out from his pocket, the fool. If the toad should decide to take a hop into his cauldron there was a fair chance he could incinerate himself along with half of his classmates. Longbottom was simply a catastrophe in the making. But this was just a normal day for Severus. Potions were easily corrupted, often with catastrophic results. He constantly had to monitor the dunderheads' every actions. Unlike his predecessor, Severus had no deaths in his classroom and no lasting injuries. He would to keep it that way, no thanks to foolish students bringing their pets to class.

He rose from his desk, dark eyes glancing over the students who immediately quieted. He noticed that Draco had seated himself close to the Gryffindor side of the room, unpredictably. He hoped he wasn't planning to provoke the idiots, who would no doubt proceed to blow his classroom to smithereens in some act of moronic house loyalty. Gryffindors never failed to overreact to everything, never missing a chance to flaunt their supposed righteousness in the faces of the_ less worthy_. He glared in their direction, wordlessly warning them to behave. His glare deepened as his eyes brushed over Potter's face for a moment, before quickly flicking to the next child.

He instructed them on the potion they would be making that day, or more predictably, attempting and failing to make: a Shrinking Solution. He briefly explained the history, purpose, and directions of brewing the Solution, enchanting the chalk to write them down on the blackboard as he spoke, then sent the students off to work. Really the potion was a misnomer, its purpose being to reduce age rather than size.

As the students settled down to prepare their ingredients he heard Draco mention something about Hagrid's idiocy with introducing Hippogryphs as a first lesson. He completely agreed, though he wasn't about to reveal it to anyone. The oaf was more suitable to being monster bait than to teach about them. How he managed to convince Dumbledore to give him the position, Severus would never know. He had heard the rumors, of course, that Draco had provoked the beast, but quickly dismissed it. Draco was far too intelligent to stoop to such utter idiocy. No, it was clearly Potter that had pulled one of his little _stunts_, and he paid for it with a scratch to the arm. The foolish boy was lucky the beast hadn't killed him. Honestly he sometimes wondered if Potter had a death wish, the way he flaunted his utter recklessness.

After a while he stalked down the row of students, checking their cauldrons. When he reached Longbottom's he nearly banished it on the spot. However, the imbecile needed to be taught a lesson... Yes, the toad would do perfectly. Perhaps he could keep pets from causing havoc in his classroom and instill the importance of following directions at the same time. He doubted it would improve the idiot boy's potion making but at least he might prevent an explosion in the making. Yet again, with Longbottom's ineptitude that might be too much to ask. He had melted a cauldron per year as of yet and there was no evidence of that trend changing anytime soon.

He gingerly picked up the ladle from Longbottom's table, dipping it into the cauldron and pouring the vibrant orange liquid back slowly so that the class could see.

"Orange, Longbottom?" he drawled sarcastically, the boy cowering under his flashing gaze. "Orange. Tell me, boy, does anything penetrate that thick skull of yours? Didn't you hear me say, quite clearly, that only one rat spleen was needed? Didn't I state plainly that a dash of leech juice would suffice? What do I have to do to make you understand, Longbottom?"

The boy had gone pink and was trembling noticeably. He looked on the verge of tears as he sniffled and gulped loudly. Pathetic. If the boy spent the effort used in fearing him on paying attention instead, he would be a potion's master already.

"Please, sir," the Granger girl implored, "please, I could help Neville put it right-"

Severus chose that moment to interrupt, coldly stating, "I don't remember asking you to show off, Granger." He withheld a smirk as she went as pink as Longbottom. "Longbottom, at the end of this lesson we will feed a few drops of this potion to your toad and see what happens. Perhaps that will encourage you to do it properly." And he swept down the row, leaving the foolish boy nearly paralyzed with fear. It's not as if the toad would die. Then again, this _was_ Longbottom...

He continued down the row, pausing slightly as he saw Potter's cauldron. He sneered, commenting, "A mockery of Potion-making, as always, Potter," before moving on. The boy had obviously not bothered to read the directions properly and had put in twice the amount of daisy root and half as much diced shrivelfig. And those were only the obvious mistakes he could tell by a glance at the thick yellow liquid. He would've banished the potion on sight but casual avoidance seemed the best option, with Potter sporting his Lily's eyes like some grisly trophy. The boy was a living insult to her memory. He didn't think he would be able to bear it if he saw her eyes glaring hatefully at him from _that _face again. He cleared his mind quickly as he felt the beginnings of pangs in his heart. This was no time to dwell on things that couldn't be changed.

Now that he had moved away the Gryffindor brats were talking about the recent sighting of Black, the filthy scum, by some muggle. Draco made some vague, enticing comments to Potter about the brat's relation to Black; he could only hope the stupid boy wouldn't act on them. The last thing he needed was for the boy to play hero, trying to hunt down the murderer. Yes, he heard them quite clearly, though they obviously thought they were covert in their whispering. It was better to have them thinking he couldn't hear than to crack down on every whisper. He had gained some valuable insights concerning the upcoming plans of the disruptive Weasley twins that way, among other things. There was a reason Severus Snape was unprankable.

After a few more moments he called out, "You should have finished adding your ingredients by now; this potion needs to stew before it can be drunk, so clear away while it simmers and then we'll test Longbottom's..." He trailed off ominously, shooting a sneer at the boy.

He saw a few of the less subtle Slytherins laughing openly as they watched Longbottom sweat, feverishly stirring his potion. Granger was likely finding some way to help the boy, even after he had explicitly told her not to, always having to find a way to show off with every lesson. He seriously doubted that the girl could right Longbottom's potion but she would have to be punished, after she thought she had gotten away with it. Then they both could learn some common sense this lesson, though after two years of trying he really should just give it up as a lost cause. Gryffindors were simply too stubbornly hardheaded to use half an ounce of common sense. He stared around the room stonily, watching the students as they packed away their ingredients.

He sat back down at his desk for the remainder of the lesson, but didn't resume his grading. Instead he kept his dark stare trained on Longbottom, who looked as if he might start having a panic attack at any moment. He resisted the urge to roll his eyes in exasperation.

As the time drew to a close he stood up and strode over to Longbottom, who was cowering by his cauldron.

"Everyone gather 'round," he said, black eyes glittering in anticipation, "and watch what happens to Longbottom's toad. If he has managed to produce a Shrinking solution, it will shrink to a tadpole. If, as I don't doubt, he has done it wrong, his toad is likely to be poisoned." He smirked slightly as the Gryffindors' expressions filled with horror. His own Slytherins looked excited, knowing that there was no real risk to the toad with him present and likely seeing the whole event as one large joke. He wasn't so cruel as to _kill_ a student's pet out of spite, not to mention the Board of Governors would fire him if he did.

He picked up the toad in his left hand, grasping it firmly as it tried to squirm away. He dipped a small spoon into Longbottom's potion, which was now green, nearly the shade it should be. His eyes narrowed. So Granger had helped after all. She had done better than he expected. The girl had talent, he had to admit; it was a shame that she chose to use it as some ploy for attention, constantly being a disruption to the learning of the other students, instead of putting that knowledge to good use. He trickled a few drops of the potion down the toad's throat.

There was a moment of hushed silence in which the toad gulped; then there was a small pop and a tadpole was wriggling in his palm, covered in slime.

His face turned sour as the Gryffindors burst into applause. This was supposed to teach a lesson to the idiot boy, not encourage him to cheat off other students! The blasted know-it-all, having to use every chance to show off. He pulled a small bottle from the pocket of his robe, poured a few drops on top of the tadpole, and the toad reappeared suddenly, fully grown.

"Five points from Gryffindor," he said blandly, which wiped the smiles from every blasted Gryffindor's face. "I told you not to help him, Miss Granger. Class dismissed."

"That's not fair!" Potter blurted, face set in angry lines. "Neville got it right, didn't he? What does it matter if Hermione helped him a bit?"

Severus' nostrils flared in anger as he spun around to face the boy, being careful not to look into his too-familiar eyes. "If you think I will award you points for disobeying my instructions, Potter," he spoke, voice dangerously silky, "you'd best think again. Detention, seven o'clock. My office."

Potter's jaw and fists clenched but he refrained from speech. Severus hated to give up his evening to punish the brat, but it was necessary in order to reform his impudence. Too long had he run amok without a firm hand to set him limits, and obviously none of the other teachers were going to step in to discipline the boy.

The class trickled out silently, Gryffindors casting him dirty looks to which he returned glares warning that points would be taken. He hoped that he had made _something_ of an impression on Longbottom, though only time would tell if he succeeded. The sooner the infantile boy left his class, the better. If only the blasted Board hadn't required that students take Potions up to their sixth year he would be spared of much inconvenience and difficulty. Being forced to babysit incompetent blockheads as they played with volatile ingredients was not a productive way to spend his time.

His eyes were suddenly drawn to Potter as he slunk out the door. The boy was limping. It was impossible for his sharp eyes _not_ to see it, he was so used to the brat's irritating strut. It was the slightest of limps, too slight, in fact. The dolt was hiding an injury, obviously too ashamed to go to the Hospital Wing. Idiot, foolish boy. Untreated injuries on active young children had a tendency to get worse, not better. At least the dunderhead would be able to learn this for future reference. But then again, it was too much to ask _Potter_ to listen to any form of reason. The boy had been skipping meals as well; his little friends made quite the fuss about it. Foolish all around. Irritated, he put the matter out of his mind, lest he actually start to be _concerned_ about Potter. He had made a vow to protect the boy and that was all. There was no need to see that every tiny injury got the spoilt brat coddled, pampered, and fawned over.

At that he set about tiding up the Potions classroom, devising the most tedious and humiliating punishment for Potter that evening, cloaked in an air of malicious pleasure.

* * *

Harry kicked the stone wall of the dungeons harshly - too harshly. He hissed, muscles clenched as he fought against the pain. He had planned the kick to release some of the anger he had built up against the greasy git during Potions, but he had forgotten about his sore ankle. Great. Now he was more angry than ever! He clenched his fists and stalked after Ron and Hermione, fuming. He purposefully ignored his throbbing ankle though he couldn't help but flinch slightly with every step. Many choice words ran through his mind at that moment, none that wouldn't get him ten points from Gryffindor if a teacher was around.

He caught up with his friends at the bottom of the steps to the entrance hall. Malfoy's cryptic words coupled with Snape's vileness had them all in a foul mood, though Harry especially.

"That git," Ron spat, seething. "Five points from Gryffindor because the potion was right! And then detention!" He looked pityingly at Harry at this. "I don't envy you, mate. He's sure to do something awful to you." Ron seemed to have momentarily forgotten his annoyance at Harry for avoiding them in light of their shared hatred of all things Snape.

Harry scrubbed his face with a hand before reforming a fist. "I'll bet he'll have me chopping up slugs or something, the overgrown bat." He made a face in revulsion.

Ron shuddered, reaching over to clap Harry on the shoulder. It really hurt, though Harry didn't show it, just gave Ron a grim smile. "You should've just said Neville had done it himself. Then you wouldn't've given him an excuse to torture you or take points. Right, Hermione?"

He looked around as Hermione didn't answer.

"Where'd she go?" Ron asked, confused.

Harry looked around too. They had just stepped into the entrance hall, the rest of the class parting around them and heading into the Great Hall for lunch. Harry felt a wave of nausea sweep over him at the very though of food. His appetite had been getting worse and worse over the past few days along with other symptoms of illness, and his friends' pestering really hadn't been helping. He turned in a full circle, searching for the distinctive bushy brown hair of his friend. Hermione was nowhere to be seen.

"She was right there," Ron said, frowning.

Malfoy sauntered past them, walking between Crabbe and Goyle. He smirked slightly at Harry and disappeared into the crowd.

"There she is," Harry said.

Hermione was panting slightly, hurrying up the stairs; one hand clutched her bag, the other seemed to be tucking something down the front of her robes.

"How'd you do that?" Ron asked.

"What?" Hermione said absently.

"One minute you were right behind us, the next moment you were back at the bottom of the stairs again."

"What?" Hermione said again, looking slightly confused. "Oh- I had to go back for something. On no-"

A seam had split on Hermione's bag. Harry wasn't surprised; he could see that it was crammed with at least a dozen large and heavy books.

"Why are you carrying all these around with you?" Ron asked, brow furrowing.

"You know how many subjects I'm taking," Hermione said breathlessly, holding out a lopsided stack of books to Ron as she examined her bag. "Couldn't hold these for me, could you?"

"But-" Ron was turning over a few of the books she had handed him, looking at the covers. "You haven't got any of these subjects today. It's only Defense Against the Dark Arts this afternoon."

"Oh yes," Hermione said vaguely, as if she wasn't really listening. She repacked the books into her repaired bag all the same. "I hope there's something good for lunch, I'm starving," she added, marching off to the Great Hall without a backward glance. Strange, she didn't even try to prod him in.

"D'you get the feeling Hermione's not telling us something?" Ron asked Harry, who shrugged. Yes, he did. At the moment he was more preoccupied with how he would escape the drawn-out ordeal of lunch, though.

"C'mon then," Ron said as Harry didn't respond further, "let's get to lunch." He turned to the Great Hall but then stopped, turning back around, eyes widening slightly as he shuffled awkwardly. "I mean, you're coming, aren't you? Hermione's right, you can't keep skipping meals, Harry." He smiled slightly and rubbed the back of his neck. "I sound just like her, don't I?" It was painfully obvious how hard Ron was trying to avoid another argument and Harry had to give him some credit. Usually Ron was the one to hold onto a grudge the longest.

Harry mustered up a smile for his friend, clapping him on the shoulder. "Look Ron, I'm fine. You and Hermione don't need to worry about me." He appreciated that his friends cared about him but he could take care of himself perfectly well. He felt a bit bad for giving them the cold shoulder lately, but he wouldn't have to if they would just leave well enough alone. Maybe it couldn't hurt to go, though, since Hermione seemed to be preoccupied today. His thoughts drifted longingly to Bird and their bench under the trees, but he had made up his mind. He had to appease his friends sometime or they might talk to a teacher about him not eating, which would be a disaster, not to mention he _was _eating. They just thought that Ron-sized portions were normal. So he set off towards the Great Hall with a light sigh, Ron grinning beside him, cracking jokes as always.

* * *

~A/N If you're worried about the story becoming too dark: Don't worry! The segment at the beginning is about as depressing as it'll get, and there won't be long continuous segments of it. All things are good in moderation. (Well, most things.)

Next time on The Many Faces: Boggarts and Detentions (I mean to get the boggart into this chapter, but it became unexpectedly long!) A/N~


	11. Chapter 11: Oh, Boggart

~A/N Many apologies for the long wait! I've been busy as a beaver this past month. *Dons the cone of shame* I'll be posting a "story so far" segment at the beginning of the next chapter to help you all remember what's been going on!

Also, thank you so much for 52 favorites and 98 followers! Your support and feedback really makes my day. Anyway, enjoy!

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the Harry Potter Universe. A/N~

* * *

After the predictably torturous ordeal of lunch, Harry made his way to his first Defense Against the Dark Arts class of the year. He had escaped his friends with the excuse that he needed the loo, and now slowly trudged through the corridors alone. It wasn't even that farfetched of an excuse, the few bites of his ham and cheese sandwich roiling sickeningly in his stomach. All he really wanted to do at the moment was take a nice, long nap, but he really couldn't afford to make his friends worry more. They were driving him mad as it was!

Eventually Harry made it to the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom and took a seat next to Ron, resting his elbows on the desk and setting his heavy forehead against his hands. Professor Lupin was nowhere to be seen, most of the students looking around curiously, taking out books, quills, and parchment as they talked. After a few minutes in which the noise grew progressively louder, as well as the constant pounding in Harry's head, Professor Lupin entered. He smiled vaguely, placing his tatty old briefcase on the teacher's desk. He was as shabby as ever but looked healthier than he had on the train, as though he had had a few square meals.

"Good afternoon," he said genially. "Would you please put all your books back in your bags. Today's will be a practical lesson. You will need only your wands."

A few curious looks were exchanged as the class put away their books. They had never had a practical Defense Against the Dark Arts class before, unless you counted the memorable class last year when their old teacher had brought a cageful of pixies to class and set them loose. Harry looked at Ron, who shrugged, before turning back to study Professor Lupin.

"Right then," said the Professor, when everyone was ready. "If you'd follow me."

Puzzled but interested, the class got to its feet and followed Professor Lupin out of the classroom. He led them along the deserted corridor and around a corner, where the first thing they saw was Peeves the Poltergeist, who was floating upside down in midair and stuffing the nearest keyhole with chewing gum.

Peeves didn't look up until Professor Lupin was two feet away; then he wiggled his curly-toed feet and broke into song, grinning.

"Loony, loopy Lupin," Peeves sang mirthfully. "Loony, loopy Lupin, loony, loopy Lupin-"

Rude and unmanageable as he almost always was, Peeves usually showed some respect toward the teachers. Everyone looked quickly at Professor Lupin to see how he would take this; to their surprise, he was still smiling.

"I'd take that gum out of the keyhole if I were you, Peeves," he said pleasantly, though his tone reminded Harry uneasily of Uncle Vernon for a moment. "Mr. Filch won't be able to get in to his brooms."

Filch was the Hogwarts caretaker, a bad-tempered, failed wizard who waged a constant war against the students and, indeed, Peeves. However, Peeves paid no attention to Professor Lupin's words, except to blow a loud wet raspberry, cackling slightly.

Professor Lupin gave a small sigh and took out his wand.

"This is a useful little spell," he told the class over his shoulder. "Please watch closely."

He raised the wand to shoulder height, said, "_Waddiwasi!_" and pointed it at Peeves.

With the force of a bullet, the wad of chewing gum shot out of the keyhole and straight down Peeves's left nostril; he whirled upright and zoomed away, cursing and shaking an angry fist at the Professor.

"Cool, sir!" Dean Thomas said in amazement.

"Thank you, Dean," Professor Lupin casually said with a smile, putting his wand away again. "Shall we proceed?"

They set off again, the class looking at shabby Professor Lupin with increased respect. He led them down a second corridor and stopped, right outside the staffroom door.

"Inside, please," Professor Lupin said, opening it and standing back to let the students pass. Harry noticed that the Professor was more polite than most adults he'd met.

The staffroom, a long, paneled room full of old, mismatched chairs, was empty except for one teacher. Professor Snape was sitting in a low armchair, and he looked around as the class filed in. His eyes were glittering and there was a nasty sneer playing around his mouth. As Professor Lupin came in and made to close the door behind him, Snape said, "Leave it open, Lupin. I'd rather not witness this."

He got to his feet and strode past the class, casting a particularly loathing look at the Professor, his black robes billowing behind him. Harry thought it odd; Snape usually reserved that look - like scum under his feet - for Harry, or a student who particularly angered him. Snape treated the other teachers with at least some respect. At the doorway Snape turned on his heel and spat, "Possibly no one's warned you, Lupin, but this class contains Neville Longbottom. I would advise you not to entrust him with anything difficult. Not unless Miss Granger is hissing instructions in his ear."

Neville went scarlet. Harry glared at Snape; it was bad enough that he bullied Neville in his own classes, let alone doing it in front of other teachers.

Professor Lupin had raised his eyebrows.

"I was hoping that Neville would assist me with the first stage of the operation," he said, "and I am sure he will perform it admirably."

Neville's face went, if possible, even redder. Snape's lip curled, but he left, shutting the door with a snap.

"Now, then," said Professor Lupin, beckoning the class toward the end of the room, where there was nothing but an old wardrobe where the teachers kept their spare robes. As Professor Lupin went to stand next to it, the wardrobe gave a sudden wobble, banging off the wall.

"Nothing to worry about," said Professor Lupin calmly as a few people had jumped backward in alarm. Neville had nearly fallen over. "There's a boggart in there."

Most people seemed to feel that this_ was_ something to worry about. Neville gave Professor Lupin a look of pure terror, and Seamus Finnigan eyed the now rattling doorknob apprehensively.

"Boggarts like dark, enclosed spaces," said Professor Lupin. "Wardrobes, the gap beneath beds, the cupboards under sinks-" Harry tensed slightly at the mention of cupboards, before chastising himself for being silly. It's not as if he slept there anymore. "I've even met one that had lodged itself in a grandfather clock. _This_ one moved in yesterday afternoon, and I asked the headmaster if the staff would leave it to give my third years some practice."

"So, the first question we must ask ourselves is, what _is_ a boggart?"

Hermione's hand shot up, right on cue.

"It's a shape-shifter," she said. "It can take the shape of whatever it thinks will frighten us most."

"Couldn't have put it better myself," said Professor Lupin, and Hermione glowed. "So the boggart sitting in the darkness within has not yet assumed a form. He does not yet know what will frighten the person on the other side of the door. Nobody knows what a boggart looks like when he is alone, but when I let him out, he will immediately become whatever each of us most fears."

"This means," said Professor Lupin, choosing to ignore Neville's small sputter of terror, "that we have a huge advantage over the boggart before we begin. Have you spotted it, Harry?"

Harry was caught off guard by the sudden question, though he really shouldn't have been. Teachers at Hogwarts always called on him at first, wanting to know just how good the 'famous Harry Potter' was at their subject. After a while the novelty usually wore off, though, Snape and his jibes excluded. However, it was immensely difficult to think up an answer with Hermione next to him, bobbing up and down on the balls of her feet with her hand in the air. Harry didn't feel very confident, but he had a go at answering.

"Er- because there are so many of us, it won't know what shape to be?" Harry mumbled tentatively.

"Precisely," said Professor Lupin, and Hermione put her hand down, looking a little disappointed. "It's always best to have company when you're dealing with a boggart. He becomes confused. Which should he become, a headless corpse or a flesh-eating slug? I once saw a boggart make that very mistake - tried to frighten two people at once and turned himself into half a slug. Not remotely frightening."

"The charm that repels a boggart is simple, yet it requires force of mind. You see, the thing that really finishes a boggart is _laughter_. What you need to do is force it to assume a shape that you find amusing."

"We will practice the charm without wands first. After me, please... _riddikulus!_"

"_Riddikulus!_" the class said together, several people sniggering afterwards, obviously amused by the spell's resemblance to a certain word. The laughter stopped as the wardrobe gave an angry shudder.

"Good," said Professor Lupin. "Very good. But that was the easy part, I'm afraid. You see, the word alone is not enough. And this is where you come in, Neville."

The wardrobe shook again, though not as much as Neville, who walked forward as though he were heading for the gallows.

"Right, Neville," said Professor Lupin. "First things first: what would you say is the thing that frightens you most in the world?"

Neville's lips moved, but no noise came out.

"Didn't catch that, Neville, sorry," Professor Lupin said cheerfully.

Neville looked around rather wildly, as though begging someone to help him, then said, in barely more than a whisper, "Professor Snape."

Nearly everyone laughed. Even Neville grinned apologetically. Professor Lupin, however, looked thoughtful.

"Professor Snape, hmmm... Neville, I believe you live with your grandmother?"

"Er- yes," said Neville nervously. "But I don't want the boggart to turn into her either," he quickly finished, to the amusement of the class.

"No, no, no, you misunderstand me," said Professor Lupin, now smiling. "I wonder, could you tell us what sort of clothes your grandmother usually wears?"

Neville looked startled, but stammered, "Well- always the same hat. A tall one- with a stuffed vulture on top. And a long dress... green, normally... and sometimes a fox-fur scarf." Harry was perplexed by the odd assortment of clothing. He had known that wizards sometimes dressed strangely, but that was absurd. Who would wear a stuffed vulture as a hat?

"And a handbag?" prompted Professor Lupin.

"A big red one," confirmed Neville.

"Right then," said Professor Lupin. "Can you picture those clothes very clearly, Neville? Can you see them in your mind's eye?"

"Yes," Neville mumbled uncertainly, plainly wondering what was coming next.

"When the boggart bursts out of this wardrobe, Neville, and sees you, it will assume the form of Professor Snape," said Lupin, gesturing to the wardrobe with his hand. "And you will raise your wand - thus -" he demonstrated, "and cry _'Riddikulus'_ - and concentrate hard on your grandmother's clothes. If all goes well, Professor Boggart Snape will be forced into that vulture-topped hat, and that green dress, with that big red handbag."

Neville's mouth dropped open in shock and the class gave a great shout of laughter. The wardrobe wobbled more violently.

"If Neville is successful, the boggart is likely to shift his attention to each of us in turn," said Professor Lupin. "I would like all of you to take a moment now to think of the thing that scares you most, and imagine how you might force it to look comical..."

The room went quiet. Harry thought... What was the thing that scared him most in the world?

At first his mind jumped to Voldemort- a Voldemort returned to full strength. After all, he had almost killed Harry twice in the same number of years. But, before he could even begin to plan a possible attack on Boggart-Voldemort, a horrible thought drifted to the surface of his mind. That night on the train... That scabbed, rotting hand pulling open the compartment door. A rattling, frozen breath sucking the life from the room. The feeling of complete emptiness, utter desolation. Suffocating, pulled deep underwater to drown in icy depths...

He shuddered, goosebumps popping up on his arms despite the fact that he was quite warm. He looked around, hoping no one had noticed. Many people had their eyes shut tight, faces scrunched in concentration. Ron was muttering to himself, "Take its legs off..." Harry was sure he knew what that was about. Ron's greatest fear was spiders.

"Everyone ready?" asked Professor Lupin.

Harry felt a lurch of fear, adding to the already sickening nausea in his stomach. He wasn't ready. How could you make a dementor less frightening? But he didn't want to ask for more time; everyone else was nodding and rolling up their sleeves.

"Neville, we're going to back away," said Professor Lupin. "Let you have a clear field, all right? I'll call the next person forward... Everyone back, now, so Neville can get a clear shot-"

They all retreated, backed against the walls, leaving Neville alone beside the wardrobe. He looked pale and frightened, but he had pushed up the sleeves of his robes and was holding his wand ready.

"On the count of three, Neville," said Professor Lupin, who was pointing his own wand at the handle of the wardrobe. "One - two - three - _now_!"

A jet ow sparks shot from the end of Professor Lupin's wand and hit the doorknob. The wardrobe burst open. Hook-nosed and menacing, Professor Snape stepped out, his eyes flashing at Neville.

Neville backed away, his wand up, mouthing wordlessly. Snape was bearing down upon him, reaching inside his robes.

"_R - r - riddikulus!_" squeaked Neville.

There was a noise like a whip crack. Snape stumbled; he was wearing a long, lace-trimmed dress and a towering hat topped with a moth-eaten vulture, and he was swinging a huge crimson handbag.

There was a roar of laughter; the boggart paused, confused, and Professor Lupin shouted, "Parvati! Forward!"

Parvati walked forward, her face set. Snape rounded on her. There was another crack, and where he had stood was a blood-stained, bandaged mummy; its sightless face was turned to Parvati and it began to walk toward her very slowly, dragging its feet, its stiff arms rising -

"_Riddikulus!_" cried Parvati.

A bandage became unraveled at the mummy's feet; its legs became entangled and it fell forward, its head rolling off.

"Seamus!" roared Professor Lupin jovially.

Seamus darted past Parvati.

_Crack! _Where the mummy had been was a woman with floor-length black hair and a skeletal, green-tinged face - a banshee. She opened her mouth wide and an unearthly sound filled the room, a long, wailing shriek that made the hair on Harry's head stand on end-

"_Riddikulus!_" shouted Seamus.

The banshee made a rasping noise and clutched her throat; her voice was gone.

_Crack!_ the banshee turned into a rat, then- _Crack!_ a rattlesnake, then- _Crack!_ a single, bloody eyeball.

"It's confused!" shouted Lupin. "We're getting there! Dean!"

Dean hurried forward, wand at the ready.

_Crack!_ The eyeball became a severed hand, which flipped over and began to creep along the floor like a crab.

"_Riddikulus!_" yelled Dean, and the hand was trapped in a mousetrap with a loud snap.

"Excellent! Ron, you next!"

Ron leapt forward.

_Crack!_

Quite a few people screamed. A giant spider, six feet tall and covered in hair, was advancing on Ron, clicking its pincers menacingly. It was the spitting image of the ones they had encountered in the forest last year. For a moment Harry thought Ron had frozen. Then-

"_Riddikulus!_" bellowed Ron, and the spider's legs vanished; it rolled over and over; Lavender Brown squealed and ran out of its way; it came to a halt at Harry's feet. He had raised his wand, ready, when he saw Lupin take a half-step forward, as if to intercept the boggart. Lupin stilled again, a conflicted look on his face, but Harry was thrown off by the sudden movement, unsure of what to do.

_Crack!_ The boggart changed, an icy draft sweeping through the room as a dementor materialized. Harry froze, staring into the impenetrable darkness of its hood, unable to look away, frozen heart pounding. He barely noticed the collective gasp of his classmates. How could a dementor become less scary? It advanced on him, gliding over the stone floor...

_Crack!_ The dementor changed suddenly, becoming a... person? His breath caught in his chest as he recognized a hulking, male form. What the-? _Crack!_ The man became a woman... His aunt? He would recognize her bony frame anywhere. _Crack!_ His aunt became... Himself? There was too little time to tell as the boggart continued its split-second changes into different people. Harry could only stare, dizzy and trembling with fear. Why was he afraid? What was going on? Was the boggart confused? _Crack!_ The boggart paused in its shifting, becoming a sort of dark mist, not black, but as if light itself couldn't reach it. A set of glowing red eyes peered out at him and Harry felt every hair on his body stand on end, a cold shiver running down his spine at the sheer malice emanating from those hateful eyes; Voldemort's eyes, but unlike he had ever seen them before.

Then, suddenly, there was another loud crack and the dementor reappeared, sweeping towards Harry, sucking in a rattling, sickly breath, freezing him solid. He couldn't breathe. The very air had solidified into a frozen block. Time itself stopped as the ragged black shape came ever closer...

Suddenly Professor Lupin was in front of him, yelling, "Here!" arms waving to attract the monster's attention.

_Crack!_ For a moment Harry thought that the boggart had vanished, sucking in a gasp of air from the suddenly warm room, but no, a silvery-white orb was hanging in the air in front of Lupin. The professor said "_Riddikulus!_" almost lazily. _Crack!_ The orb became a balloon, which sputtered air as it deflated.

"Forward, Neville, and finish him off!" Lupin said as the balloon fell to the floor, becoming a cockroach with a sharp crack. He gave Harry a concerned glance as he drew back. _Crack!_ Snape was back. This time Neville charged forward, looking determined.

"_Riddikulus!_" Neville bellowed, and they had a split-second view of Snape in his lacy dress before Neville let out a loud, "Ha!" of laughter, and the boggart exploded, burst into a thousand tiny wisps of smoke, and was gone.

Harry looked around as the class burst into applause, noticing the less-than-subtle looks many people were giving him. He immediately felt annoyed. It wasn't his fault that the boggart went berserk on him. And it wasn't his fault that he couldn't defeat it... He doubted anyone could've come up with an idea so quickly. He knew he was lying to himself, though, as he felt his cheeks burning. He was the only one who hadn't been able to defeat the dementor, what a failure. First passing out on the train, now this? Malfoy would be having a field day.

"Excellent, excellent," cheered Professor Lupin. "Excellent, Neville. And well done, everyone... Let me see... five points to Gryffindor for every person to tackle the boggart - ten for Neville because he did it twice... and five each to Hermione and Harry." His eyes lingered on Harry, assessing him with another troubled look.

"But I didn't do anything," Harry said sullenly, holding back a residual shiver.

"You and Hermione answered my questions correctly at the start of the class, Harry," Lupin said genially. "Very well, everyone, an excellent lesson. Homework, kindly read the chapter on boggarts and summarize it for me... to be handed in on Monday. That will be all." He dismissed the class, then added, "Harry, if you would stay after, please."

Harry paused mid-turn, frowning and waving his friends on without him. The rest of the class left the classroom, talking excitedly, as he turned to the Professor.

"Are you alright, Harry?" Professor Lupin asked, walking up and placing a gentle hand on his shoulder.

"I'm fine," Harry replied. "I just- I didn't know how to make a dementor..." he trailed off, feeling obligated to provide an explanation, but unsure how to finish.

"How to make it amusing?" Professor Lupin finished with an understanding look. Harry felt his cheeks flush even more.

"Yeah," Harry said lamely, looking at the tips of his worn trainers peeking out from under his robes.

"It's quite alright, Harry," Professor Lupin continued thoughtfully. "I had assumed you would think of Voldemort, but a dementor- very wise."

Harry blinked in surprise. Not only had he been called wise for failing to defeat the dementor, but Lupin had said Voldemort's name. He had only ever heard Dumbledore say it out loud before, besides himself.

"Why's that, sir?" Harry asked, confused.

"Ah, yes. To summon a dementor as your boggart suggests that what you truly fear most is - fear. That's quite a feat for one as young as yourself," Lupin said with a smile.

"Er- thanks," Harry said awkwardly, not sure how to respond. He didn't feel very wise, more like incredibly stupid.

"Are you sure that's all you thought of, though? Those other figures..." Lupin continued curiously.

"I'm sure. I don't know what all that was about," Harry said quickly. "The boggart must've been confused or something."

"Hmm, yes," Lupin said, but Harry could tell that he wasn't convinced. "Are you sure you're feeling well, though? Even a boggart projecting as a dementor can have strong effects." The Professor began rummaging in his tattered robe's pockets.

"I'm fine," Harry said firmly. Truthfully he felt as if he might collapse at any moment, but he was doing his best to ignore that. He didn't need Professor Lupin thinking he was weak.

"If you're sure, then, Harry. I'm sure you want to get back to your friends," Lupin said with an interested smile, handing him a small piece of chocolate.

Harry nodded, took the chocolate and gathered up his wand, which he hadn't realized he had dropped, before hurrying out of the room and out into the corridor. His friends straightened up from where they had been leaning against the wall outside, giving him curious looks, which he ignored, starting down the hall.

"What did he want?" Ron asked, catching up to him as they made their way back to the classroom to collect their things.

"Nothing, just wanted to make sure I was fine," Harry said testily.

Ron seemed oblivious to his friend's bad mood, laughing. "Did you see Snape in that dress? I wish I had a picture of that. And the way I took on that spider!" He grinned. "That was the best Defense lesson we've ever had, wasn't it?"

"He seems like a very good teacher," Hermione said approvingly. "But I wish I could've had a turn with the boggart-"

"What would it have been for you?" asked Ron, sniggering. "A piece of homework that only got nine out of ten?"

Harry couldn't resist laughing at that, to Hermione's annoyance. She huffed and didn't reply.

They caught up to the rest of the class as they entered the classroom, gathering up their things. Everyone seemed to be excited from the lesson, all discussing their feats with the boggart. Harry was still thinking about that pair of red eyes, staring into the depths of his soul. So like Voldemort's and yet... not, somehow. Where did they come from? Thoughts swirled around in Harry's head for the rest of the afternoon, pestering him as much as his friends and about as likely to leave him alone. Fortunately, Ron seemed happy to go over the Defense lesson countless times, allowing Harry to get away with a few noncommittal grunts in response. As pestering as his thoughts were, he couldn't seem to focus on one of them long enough to figure it out. They simply floated through his mind, humming like angry bees, stinging him every time he got close.

By the time dinner came he was feeling incredibly tired, unnaturally so. He was used to being tired from his time at the Dursleys, working around the house every day, but this was different. It was as if his body and mind were simply shutting down, weights tied to his limbs. Or perhaps he was walking underwater, everything muted and blurred. The dull, burning pain emanating from what seemed like every place on his body was the only thing keeping him focused.

The very thought of food made his stomach lurch so he told his friends to go down without him; he needed a nap. He wasn't even lying this time. He must've looked as bad as he felt because they didn't even try to force him, just gave him worried looks, especially Hermione.

He trudged up the stairs to the dormitory, sitting down halfway and taking deep breaths as he felt his head spin. What was wrong with him? He had never felt this bad before. He laid his cheek against the cold stone, shivering and freezing, yet too hot at the same time. He didn't even notice as he slid down the wall to curl up on the uncomfortable steps, slipping into a fitful sleep.

The next thing he knew someone was shaking his shoulder. He sat up with a jolt, blinking his eyes as the world spun around him.

"-arry!" Ron's voice said. He sounded frantic.

"Wha-" Harry mumbled, fighting not to let his eyes drift closed again,

"You're late for detention, Harry!" Hermione chimed in fretfully.

Harry awoke fully in less than a second. Late for detention? Oh no, oh no... Snape was going to kill him! And then chop him up for potions ingredients!

He mumbled a swear and shot to his feet, dashing down the stairs, Ron's horrified, pitying look and Hermione's disapproving one following him. He made it to the portrait hole in record time, jumping down, when his ankle gave under him. He let out a pained gasp, muscles tightening against the sudden flare of intense pain. He got up again, though, determined not to be any later for his detention, busted ankle or not. Snape could do a whole lot worse to him. Steeling his face, he set off at a run to the dungeons, one hand trailing on the wall to keep balance.

He arrived at the door to Snape's office and bent over, hands on his knees, panting. His heart was pounding, his ankle throbbing in time to the beat, the pain seeming to spread until his entire body was pulsating with waves of pain. He squeezed his eyes tight for a moment before straightening up and knocking, doing his best to keep the exhaustion from his face.

Snape opened the door, cold anger radiating from his dark, imposing form, silhouetted against the candlelight. "You're late, Potter," he sneered. "While I assume that your other teachers ignore such disrespect... You will find that imitating the actions of a mentally challenged troll will not gain my favor. Detention tomorrow, seven o'clock, and do _not_ be late."

Harry reflexively opened his mouth to protest, but found that he couldn't muster up the energy. "Yes, sir," He replied dully.

Snape narrowed his eyes suspiciously, but brushed past Harry out into the corridor, shutting the door to the office behind him. "Come with me," he demanded, quickly setting off down the corridor. Harry struggled to keep up, limping heavily as the pain from his ankle truly set in. He started shivering, the sweat from his run drying on his skin, leaving him vulnerable to the frigid air of the dungeons. Snape eerily reminded of a dementor, the way he almost seemed to glide across the stone floor, not making a sound, robes billowing behind him.

After a short walk they came to the Potions classroom and Snape opened the door, ushering him in. Harry did his best to hide his limp, gritting his teeth. He would not show weakness in front of _Snape_, of all people. The door closed with a bang and Harry jumped, then cursed his stupidity as he felt Snape's burning gaze on his back.

"Sit down, Potter. You'll be juicing leeches," Snape said as he brushed past him, gesturing stiffly to a table at the front of the dimly-lit room where two large buckets sat next to a much smaller bowl. Harry shuddered slightly. Yuck, leeches. He would have slime stuck under his nails forever.

Resigning himself to his fate, he took a seat and looked into the buckets. Lo and behold, the one furthest to the right contained what looked to be a hundred live black leeches, squirming in a few inches of water. The other vessels were empty. He now noticed a small potions knife resting next to a cutting board positioned in the center of the table.

"As I doubt you have the capacity to figure it out for yourself," Snape drawled, taking a seat at the teacher's desk and giving him a loathing look, "you will gather the leech juice in the bowl, then dispose of the remainder in the large, empty bucket. If I find you slacking your detentions will increase to a month, every night." He looked down his hooked nose at Harry expectantly, as if waiting for him to rebel against his orders.

"Yes, sir," Harry said sullenly, getting to work.

As he pulled the first slimy leech out of the bucket, hacking off its sucker with the knife, he noticed his hands were shaking. Badly. He clenched his fists, trying to still the tremors, without success. Taking a deep breath and grimacing, he squeezed the leech's liquidy innards into the bowl, then tossed it into the empty bucket and picked up another one.

After awhile he got into a rhythm, hardly even noticing his pain and tiredness anymore. It was only when he reached into the bucket and his hands found only water that he snapped out of his trance. He peered in, seeing there were no leeches left. Snape noticed as he paused, unsure of what to do next, and strode over, surveying his work with a dark look. The Potions Master's critical eyes roamed the table before flicking upward a moment to Harry's face.

"A waste of perfectly good ingredients, as I expected," Snape sneered. The man turned away quickly, striding to the sinks where several filthy-looking cauldrons were laid out.

"You will clean these now, Potter," Snape said ominously, "without magic. You are not to leave a _speck_ of grime on them." He watched Harry expectantly.

Feeling dazed, Harry made his way over to the sinks, mumbling, "Yes, sir." He somehow managed to hide his limp again and Snape returned to his desk, dark eyes watching Harry's every move.

This Harry could do. Snape seriously thought this was detention-worthy? He had _years_ of dishwashing experience. His ankle, however, would be a pain to stand on, literally. In fact he wasn't sure how long he would last before it gave out on him again. However, no matter how bad it got, there was no way he would ever walk into the stark white room of the Hospital Wing of his own free will and allow himself to be tortured. Nothing could be that bad.

With that thought in mind he scrubbed the leech slime off his hands under the gargoyle tap, then picked up the first cauldron, the slick black grime coating it inside and out nearly causing it to slip through his fingers. He dropped it into the sink, the spigot spewing warm water into it. He picked up the bar of soap and scrub brush resting next to the cauldrons on the counter and got to work. He felt his muscles working as he scrubbed at the slime. It seemed to be alive, almost, clinging to the sides of the cauldron by its own will. He forced his noodle-like arms to scrub harder, digging the rough bristles of the brush into the gunk, and felt it start to give.

After a few minutes of this he his arms began to burn, the effort required much more than with the Dursleys' dishes. (Well, perhaps not Dudley's.) He didn't slow, determined to get this over with as soon as possible. As the time wore on, however, he realized that the cleaning would take a lot longer than he thought. Magical messes were much more tough to clean than regular ones, though he supposed that were he allowed to use magic he could probably clean it in a second. He wished for a chair; his ankle was killing him even with his weight on his other foot.

By the time he had fully cleaned the first cauldron he was exhausted. How many more of these would he have to do? He felt about ready to faint as it was, hands shaking violently, hardly able to keep his hold on the brush. He was shivering and his uninjured foot had gone numb from standing on it for so long. He knew that Snape would only laugh at his weakness, though, so he moved the clean cauldron to the other side of the sink and dragged the next one to him. He was so tired, even more so than earlier. His eyes drifted closed and he struggled to reopen them, starting to scrub at the strange yellow-green crust on this cauldron. He felt as if he was moving through a thick fog, every motion a monumental effort. But he had to keep going or Snape would kill him.

After a few more scrubs his eyes closed again, against his will. He couldn't find the energy to lift those leaded lids and decided to rest them, just for a moment, hoping Snape wouldn't notice. He let the heaviness descend upon him, relaxing, and lost sight of the here and now, swallowed up in a dark, comforting blanket.

"Potter!" a sharp voice snapped and he flinched violently, eyes flying open. What? Oh, Merlin. He had fallen asleep against the counter. Snape was going to _kill_ him.

* * *

~A/N Next time on The Many Faces: Harry gets into a jam. And not the sweet kind. A/N~


End file.
